The Bastard and the Lady
by Mischieff
Summary: This is a tale of the Fifth Blight that was defeated by the Warden Kathryn Cousland ("What Makes a King" and "The Village") This telling stays true to lore with my interpretation of characters and events. The focus of this tale is an examination of the thoughts and feelings of the characters. Conversations and events may be altered, modified or expanded for story telling purposes.
1. Chapter 1: The Tournament

1. The Tournament

Alistair laid on his bunk in the templar barracks, staring at the ceiling, following the cracks in the stones as he had done for countless nights since coming here. The entire barracks were empty except for him. Classes, training, sparring practice, had all been canceled, for there was to be a tournament today. The Warden Commander of Ferelden was coming to choose a recruit from among the templars to join the Grey Wardens and the tournament was being held in his honor to display the best that the chantry and the templars had to offer. Templars from all over Ferelden had come including probably the three best warriors the chantry had. Ser Kalvin of Denerim, whose talent with a sword could not be equaled this side of the Antivan duelists, Ser Eryhn, a woman of Highever, possessed of unmatched grace with blade and shield and Ser Talrew of Lothering, whose battle prowess had brought victory in many campaigns against Chasind raiders in the Korcari Wilds. Any templar that wished to could compete, but initiates could only with permission from the Knight-Commader Glavin. A few had asked and been permitted to compete. He had asked, nearly begged to be allowed to enter but his request had been denied.

He had been so angry, furious in fact, which in retrospect hadn't helped his cause any. He wanted so badly to compete, wanted to be given the chance to be recruited and get out of this place, wanted to do anything but be a templar. And, well... saving the world from darkspawn sounded like a pretty good option. Besides becoming a Grey Warden was a great honor. It wasn't that he wasn't good enough to compete that that level. He was. He knew that and so did the Knight-Commander. He was the best warrior of all the intiates there and he wasn't being allowed to compete. Why? Because he wanted to, that's why.

It was a punishment, and he knew it. The Knight-Commander had finally found something he wanted, something he cared about, something to take away from him. He had gotten used to the frequent corporal punishment, gotten to the point where he liked working in the kitchen. There was nothing they could do or threaten to do to make him submit and behave. He was a trouble maker, willful, obstinate and not worthy of being a templar but he was the best they had. He tried to explain the irony of what they were doing but they didn't care. He wanted out so they were going to make sure he stayed. If he had been content here, a good initiate who never caused trouble, they would let him go with a happy heart but now they held on to him with spite. This was payback, vengeful and petty and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

He heard the horn, the tournament was about to start. He should stay here, refused to be a part of it, show they hadn't beaten him but they had and they all knew it. And he did want to see the matches and the skill of the knights. He begrudeningly got up and made his way to the courtyard.

He walked around watching the first round matches. He fought the rising anger at seeing those fight he knew he could beat and tried to observe and learn. He found where the knights were competing but he had gotten there too late to get close enough to see them. Then he thought he heard his name called. He looked around and then saw the Knight-Commander motioning for him to approach. Fantastic! he thought. They weren't even going to let him watch. He walked up to him. Next to him was a man, dark skinned, black hair, Rivani. He had a calm demeanor, serious, but kind too somehow. That must be the Grey Warden, he thought. Great. He gets called out in front of the Grey Warden. Day just couldn't get any better.

The Knight-Commander said "The Warden Commander wants to see you fight. Go get your gear and try not to embarrass all of us." At least, that's what Alistair thought he said, but it was so incredible that he really didn't believe it. He looked back and forth between the two men. The Warden Commander smiled and nodded to him. Alistair turned and ran over several people and back to the barracks. He had to get his gear before the Knight-Commader changed his mind. He charged through the doors, running through the halls back to the armory. He grabbed his set of medium grade splintmail. It was only iron and he was going to be at a distinct disadvantage since most of the templars fought in their plate armor and all of the initiates had been allowed at least heavy armor to compete in. But he'd just have to be better. He pulled off his clothes, and buckled himself into the armor. He grabbed a wooden templar shield and a simple iron sword and ran back to the courtyard.

He forced his way through the crowd of onlookers and combatants to the templar in charge of the matches. "I get to fight!" He blurted out. The templar looked at him suspiciously. "Knight-Commander said so. See look." He pointed to where the Knight-Commander he sat with the Grey Warden. He nodded his head at the templar. Alistair heard protests from the other initiates and even some of the full templars that he shouldn't be allowed to compete. He had already missed the first round. But he didn't care, this was his chance and he didn't intend to waste it.

Rules made clear: No fighting dirty, this is a skill contest. The match was over when either one party conceded or was dealt what in the judges' opinion was a killing blow. His first match was against another initiate, the fourth son of a minor noble in the bannorn. At least it's better than being a bastard, he was wont to say. We'll see, Alistair thought, this isn't sparring practice. He blocked several showy blows, let his opponent feel good about pummeling him and then struck quickly and with force at the first opportunity. The templar judges reluctantly called the match. The other initiate protested but all three judged agreed. Alistair extended his hand to him but he refused. Alistair had expected as much and for the most part didn't care. He faked devastation at the slight. There were chuckles from the crowd. Alistair looked up to see if the Grey Warden had seen his victory and to his great surprise, he was watching him.

The next match was against a templar in full massive armor, who seemed almost insulted that he was being asked to fight an initiate. Alistair was patient and good at his chosen discipline. He blocked the blows he had to and avoided those he could. He was quicker in the lighter armor and would tire less easily. He could afford to wait and let the templar wear himself out, let him get frustrated by his lack of success. Alistair could play the waiting game, watch... and wait... for the right... opportunity and... then... strike. He swung with the sword, just hard enough to get his attention and then bashed him with the shield, knocking him back. Before the templar could recover his footing, Alistair followed it up with another bash. Then he changed targets and went after his sword. A stunning blow to the templar's wrist and he let go of his sword. He tried to retreat to regroup and recover his weapon but in the massive armor Alistair was too quick. Another blow brought him to his knees. The match was called. There was some light applause and again he extended his hand but the templar was too embarrassed by being bested by an initiate and refused. Alistair shrugged to the crowd and then, while trying not to be obvious about it, checked to see if the Grey Warden was still watching and he was.

The next match was another templar. He was different, he fought with patience and skill. Alistair finally gained an edge and knocked the templar to his back, with his sword at his throat the match was called. Alistair again extended his hand and this time to his surprise the templar took it. He helped him to his feet."Good match. Best one I've had today, obviously." He smiled.

Alistair responded. "I got lucky."

"No," the templar said shaking his head. "You are very good. Good luck to you." He said and then turned away.

Alistair fought several more matches and won them all and qualified to advanced to the next round. He was the only initiate still in the competition. Over and over and match after match, he besting each opponent. Finally there were only four combatents left: Ser Kalvin of Denerim, Ser Eryhn of Highever, Ser Talrow of Lothering and him.

His first match of the final round was with Ser Kalvin. He tried to keep up with the flurry of strikes, many he blocked, several to the great surprise of Ser Kalvin but there were too many and too fast. He realized he couldn't beat him but determined to last as long as possible. Finally he felt the knight's blade at his throat and the match was called. He extended his hand to Alistair who shook it. "Well fought." he said.

"Thank you." Alistair responded.

"You're good, very good. It was an honor."

"Yes, thank you, you too. I mean it was an honor for me as well." The knight smiled and walked away.

His next match was with Ser Eryhn. Alistair knew that he had to win at least one match to even be considered for recruitment but that seemed highly unlikely. As the match began, he knew almost immediately he was outmatched but was determined to make a good showing. He tried attack after attack but couldn't get any blow to land. He fell back into a defensive stance and waited for an opening that never came. After several tries, he was finally knocked back and the match called. She walked over to him as he regained his footing. She extended her hand and he shook it. "Quite a match there. I'm impressed and I don't say that often."

"Thank you." He replied.

"You have talent and skill and the inteligence to use both. Most any idiot can pick up a sword and a shield and figure out how to block with the one and strike with the other, but true mastery of the discipline takes, talent, study, time and hard work. You show a great deal of potential, keep working at it. Maker watch over you." She smiled and walked away.

The last match was with Ser Talrow of Lothering. It was a grueling battle of attrition that again he knew he couldn't win. Finally, exhausted, he took one more blow than he was able and collapsed to the ground. The match was called. He had lost the three final matches and no doubt any chance he had at being recruited. He tried to get up but couldn't. "Stay down." He heard the knight say. "Take deep breaths. Don't try to stand till breathing is normal and vision clears." Alistair took several deep breaths and then as he tried to stand the knight picked him up from under his arms and raised him to his feet.

"Good match. I was almost worried." The knight smiled. "What's your name again? Alastin?"

"Alistiar" he was finally able to say.

"I'll remember that, no doubt I'll hear it again someday. Maker guide your steps, lad."

His whole body hurt. He stiffly walked over to the edge of the arena and sat down and then laid down upon the ground. Soon the Knight-Commander would announce the winner and who the recruit would be. He knew it was useless but he prayed anyway. As hard as he ever had in his life. Then he heard the Knight-Commander speak and he thought he heard him say his name, but he had to be hearing things. He had lost all three final matches. He looked around and all were looking at him, some with indignant startes and some with surprise. He saw the Knight-Commander and the Grey Warden approach and slowly got to his feet.

"Here is your recruit." the Knight-Commander said with obvious distaste.

Alistair looked to him and then to the Grey Warden and blurted out "But I didn't win the tournament!"

The Grey Warden said "I did not ask for the tournament, nor did I offer recruitment as its prize. I came here seeking a warrior of character and I believe I have found him"

Alistair was taken back and stood there with his mouth hanging open. 'Warrior of character' that sounded a lot better than 'troublemaker with willful streak' that's for sure. Finally the Grey Warden said "Why don't you go collect your things. We leave immediately." Alistair nodded and then ran off to the barracks as fast as he was able, before the Grey Warden could change his mind.

He went to his bunk. Last time he would ever see this place. He looked through his things. There was so little there, few pairs of socks and small clothes, couple change of clothes. He didn't even really want to risk taking the time to change. Figured if they really wanted the old rusty splintmail and now cracked shield he would let them have them, and walk out of this place naked. He packed up his few things. He put his hand under the pillow and pulled out a book he had long ago borrowed from the monastery's library _Tales of Calenhad_. He put it on the bed and then took off his initiate's amulet and threw it next to it. He grabbed his pack and made his way to the front doors.

As he approached he heard voices talking and whoever they were, they were not happy. It was the Grey Warden and another voice, female... the Grand Cleric... Alistair felt his heart sink. He turned the corner and saw the Grey Warden standing facing the Grand Cleric who had not only a few templars behind her but several members of the Denerim city guard. This was not good.

He stepped up and heard the Grey Warden say, "I do not see the problem. I requested permission to choose a recruit from among the ranks of the templars. The tournament was held for that purpose."

"But you were not given permission to choose an initiate." she said. Oh no, Alistair couldn't believe it. She wasn't going to stop him, not now.

"If that was an issue why were other initiates allowed to compete?" He asked.

The Grand Cleric had no answer and said "He was not to be allowed to compete."

"Why was that? It would seem that since he made it to the final round he had more than enough skill and talent." He stopped letting the Grand Cleric know that he knew she had no answer, or at least no answer she wanted to give. He continued. "From what I have heard of him, it would seem that he may very well better serve the Maker as a Grey Warden than a templar."

"You would interfere with a templar's duty to the Maker, to protect his world from magic." The Grand Cleric said trying to change the focus of the conversation.

"The duty of the Grey Wardens is the greatest in the Maker's world for if we fail it will not matter if magic is unsanctioned or not for the world itself will fall. When a blight comes, will the templars be willing to stand against the might of a darkspawn hoard, fight an archdemon. For if they wish to take on that responsibility I will gladly retire today."

"There has not been a blight in over 400 years." The Grand Cleric said.

"So that means there will not be another one? That is the same thing that was said after the first blight, the second blight and the third blight, but another came. and each time only the Grey Wardens stood against it."

The Grand Cleric looked to Alistair and said "I will not allow his recruitment." Alistair was crushed. He started to speak, to beg if he had to. Then the Grey Warden grabbed his arm. Alistair bit his tounge and prayed. "If he tries to leave with the initiate, arrest both of them." She said to the guards and started to turn away.

The Grey Warden replied "Then you leave me no choice." The Grand Cleric looked satisfied. He continued "I will conscript him."

Her eyes became wide. "What?"

"I have the right given to the Grey Wardens by King Maric." Alistair knew that the Grey Warden had pulled rank on the Grank Cleric. For while the chantry held much power, there was nothing more respected in Ferelden than the name of the king who had freed this land from the Orleasians. He could see the soldiers waiver. Willing as they had been to obey the word of the Grand Cleric, they were not willing to go against the will of the king. And she knew it.

"You would... risk... do that." She said obviously surprised.

"That I take such a drastic measure should prove to you how much I believe that he will serve the Maker better as a Grey Warden than a templar." Alistair could tell she was fuming. She decided to change tatics and turned her attention to him.

"Come now, Alistair, do you really wish to leave us?" She said as sweetly as possible.

Duncan spoke up "It does not matter what he wishes. I have conscripted him. He has no choice in the matter." Alistair knew that the Grey Warden was taking the fight and the responsibility on himself. He knew that Alistair wanted to leave, wanted to be recruited. He had faced and stood up to the Grand Cleric, risked her wrath to help him. No one had ever done anything like that for him... ever.

The Grand Cleric knew she had lost and didn't like it but she had no choice. If the Warden Commander was willing to push the issue she knew that Cailan would uphold the order of his father. She addressed Alistiar. "If you are to go, I must ask one thing of you. You are not yet a templar, you have not taken your final vows yet. One of those vows is an oath to the Maker that you will never reveal templar secrets to anyone. It is vital to the security and safety of all templars that these secrets are not learned by anyone so that they be used against the chantry. So I must ask that you give me your word, your solemn promise before the Maker that you will never reveal any templar secrets to anyone. Not even to the Grey Wardens."

Alistair looked to Duncan, who slightly nodded to him. He looked back to the Grand Cleric and croaked a "Yes, I give you my word."

She looked appeased and said dismissively "Then good luck and Maker watch over you." She turned and walked away.

"Come." the Grey Warden said. They walked by the guards and out of the chantry's door. "By the way," The Grey Warden said as they stepped into the evening air. "My name is Duncan."


	2. Chapter 2: The Tavern

2. The Tavern

Duncan stepped into the tavern. He was less than a day's journey to Highever castle and could make it by dusk if he pushed though but he had friends here and wanted to get some information before continuing on. As his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, he heard the voice of the tavern keeper. "Duncan! Maker bless me! Come in! Come in, my friend. Bessie! Look who's come!"

The tavern keeper was a man in his early fifties. His younger brother had been one of Duncan's first recruits, a brawler and drunk who had accidentally killed a man in a fight. Duncan had conscripted him on the day he was to be hung. The man had survived the joining and found purpose in the Grey Wardens. He had sworn off drink saying with a smile that after the Joining nothing else could compare. He had become a model Grey Warden leading rescue missions into the deep roads and village defense against darkspawn raids. When he went to his Calling, he took Duncan's hand and thanked him. "I can stand before the Maker without shame now." He had said.

His brother had always treated Duncan like family and this small tavern was one of the few places outside of the Grey Warden compound itself that he felt at home. As an additional benefit, he was a man who liked to talk and knew everyone and everything about everyone.

"Why, bless me." said the woman who emerged from the back kitchen. "So good to see you! I bet that husband of mine hasn't even offered you a seat yet. Get this man an ale, dear. Now, first things first... are you just passing through or you staying?"

"I'm going to stay tonight and continue on to Highever castle in the morning." Duncan replied.

"Wonderful! I have a lamb shank just ready for the roast. You sit down there and we'll take care of you. And you know your coin is no good here." She pointed her finger and looked stern to prove she meant it. Then smiled a warm smile and disappeared back into the kitchen. Her husband placed a dark ale in front of Duncan. He poured another for himself and said. "Well, you heard the woman. Now let's take a seat over there. Come." They made there way to a booth. "What brings you to out this way? Recruiting?"

"As always." Duncan said.

"Found any good ones lately?" The keeper asked.

"One, who has a lot of potential. He just passed his joining a few months ago. But he needs work." Duncan said thoughtful.

"Let me guess, a raw boy barely knows the pommel of a sword from the pointy end, reckless and full of himself with fire in his eyes and an nasty disposition." His friend said.

"No," Duncan smiled. "Just the opposite in fact. He was trained as a templar and they try their best to beat any fire out of you. The fact that he still has as much will as he does, speaks well of him and his spirit. He is good man, good heart in him. His skills and talent as a warrior are impressive. Brave but not reckless at all. He seems to have a natural ability to lead but he lacks any confidence in himself at all. He has never been allowed to make a decision in his life and truly doesn't know how. He is clever with a tongue as sharp as his sword but he doesn't know when to use it and when not to. And I've seen flashes of a temper that might prove terrible if unleashed. But all that is easily corrected with time. He has shown much improvement since his recruitment. I think he is capable of much." Duncan nodded slightly.

"You almost sound fond of the boy." The keeper said suspiciously and with a smile.

Duncan smiled. "You know I'm not supposed to be partial." and took a drink of his ale, then said. "I've been invited to Highever to look at a potential recruit..."

"Ah... so you come here to get the read on them. What you want to know?" The keeper asked.

"First, what can you tell me about the Teyrn?" Duncan asked.

"Much. Most you know but you know the hawk's view I'll give you the mouse's view. He is a good man and a good teyrn. Most here in Highever would follow him off a cliff even more so than..."

"...the king." Duncan said.

"Yes. In fact, there was talk when Maric disappeared to make him king instead, but nothing came of it. All about here were glad too. The Teyrn is loyal to crown. He fought in the war, you know. He looks good for age, must be all those toasts to his health. Shrewd, kind, generous, but can be fierce if his family or people are threatened, carries himself with quiet confidence and the calm of one who has seen things. You'll like him." His friend said.

The keeper took a drink of ale and then continued. "The Teyrnia is a good woman, a lady not only by birth but by man ner and actions. You question her virtue in any tavern in Highever and you'll likely get a face-full of fist for your words. She is sharp too, not one to back down from a fight or need one to stand up for her. She is devoted to her husband, children and grandchild."

Duncan looked thoughtful and then asked about the heir. The keeper replied. "Fergus? He is good sort, bright, kind to have a ale with and give you his last silver. He has an Antivan wife and one boy, Oren. So, the succession is secured. Most agree that he'll be a fine Teyrn one day, although not in any hurry. The entire family is very loving and devoted, makes the castle a pleasant place to be." Duncan finished off his ale and before he could set the glass down a young woman appeared with another. "You remember my girl, don't you?"

"Yes, hello. You have grown, nearly a woman now." Duncan said. She smiled.

"Hello, ser." She said a bit shyly.

"Just nearly. Don't tell her I know but she has her eye on that bard that plays here." He said in confidence and with a wink.

"Father!" the girl exclaimed and ran off to hide in the kitchen. Duncan had to smile.

"The lad's been getting up his courage up to ask me. He's a good man, solid even if a bard. She could to worse and he seemed devoted. Can't ask for more than that." He raised his ale and took a drink. "So, who's the candidate?"

"A Ser Gilmore. The Teyrn suggested him as a possible recruit."

The keeper looked at Duncan curiously and with a bit of surprise thrown in. He considered for a moment and then said. "Ser Gilmore, he'd be a good choice and definitely worth your time. Let's see... father a minor lord in Bannorn, been a squire since age of about ten, basically raised with Teyrn's children, nearly part of the family. Good, solid man, highly skilled, youngest knight to serve Highever, brave and true type. He has a quiet demeanor but don't mistake that for reserve or any lack of courage or confidence." He took another drink and considered. "But I find it odd that the Teyrn would suggest him to you as a recruit. As I say he is basically part of the family and to put all that effort into education and training... what's going on, Duncan?"

Duncan put the glass down on the low table and leaned in. Duncan knew that while the keeper was a man who knew things and liked to talk, he also knew when to hold his tongue and he trusted him. "A blight has begun."

"No." He said quietly. "Maker preserve us. When? Where?"

"We have sensed it for a while now and have been waiting for the hoard to show itself. A few weeks ago, it did... in the wilds. We informed the king and he took us at our word and began to mobilize. All the banns are being called to Ostagar to set up a defense." Duncan said.

"Yes," the keeper said nodding. "We noticed that the Teyrn had collected the army, upgraded equipment, all that. Arl Howe just arrived too. We thought perhaps a threat of war... Orlais... but this... not this." He sat back and shook his head. "Maker bless and keep you, Duncan."

Several moments passed as the men were occupied with their ale and their own thoughts. Then the keeper said "Well, I see why the Teyrn would be willing to give up his best knight and I have no doubt that he'll make a fine Grey Warden... but..."

"But, what?" Duncan said.

"But... well, if I was the Warden Commander of Ferelden facing a blight at my very door, there is someone else at Highever castle that I'd take a look at." His friend said.

"Who? Not Fergus, I can't deprive Highever of its heir, even if I do have the power. It wouldn't be worth the political instability or the ire of the nobility." Duncan said.

"Oh, no. I didn't mean him at all... I mean the Teyrn's second child... the daughter, Kathryn."

Duncan sat back surprised. "The daughter."

"Yes, she is something. Most around here wouldn't mind a bit if she became Teyrn instead of her brother despite being second child and a woman, and that is no cut against him, mind you, but praise of her. She is exceptional, has been since a child. A skilled and talented rogue, fierce, cunning, brave, sensible, wise beyond years with a sharp tongue that she knows how and when to use. Strong willed nearly to point of stubbornness or at least was when a girl, but also kind and generous. If facing a darkspawn horde you could do worse than have her at your back."

Duncan considered and then said "Given the family's name, I'm surprised she hasn't been married off by now..." Leaving unsaid the question of what was wrong with her.

"So is the Teyrnia, but not her fault, for certain. The Teyrnia has been trying to make a match for her for years but the girl has so far resisted all such attempts. She was raised to be Teyrn, to think for herself. She is strong in mind, body and heart and most men can't handle it, feel too threatened. They want a proper wife, which she is not capable of. She would make a wonderful wife to the right man, someone who could appreciate her, someone who is as strong as she is, just in a different way. So far she hasn't found one. And while she would marry if the Teyrn insisted, so far he hasn't. But she is wasting away up there. There is no place for her anymore. She wants to do something more with her life than just be some noble's wife and bear his children. Something like, oh... I do not know... saving the world from a bight."

Duncan considered. "What would make you think that the Teyrn would be willing to allow his daughter to be recruited?"

"I don't and he won't." The keeper said sure. "But he isn't the one you need to convince. If she wants it, she will find a way. Perhaps not today, for she will not defy her father but she will find a way." He leaned forward as in confidence. "If I were you, put a word in her ear as soon as possible, even in front of the Teyrn. He will object, of course, but see if she bites and if she does, back off and bide your time."

"I see. Thank you. I will." Duncan said.

"But there is one thing I must warn you about her. That might cause you trouble, a lot of trouble with with the other wardens." The keeper said.

"Yes." Duncan said concerned.

"She is beautiful."


	3. Chapter 3: The Castle

3.1 Bryce and Eleanor

Bryce and Eleanor Cousland looked out from the rampart of the castle, watching Fergus and the army till they were well out of sight.

"I fear for him... for you... for Kathryn... for all of us... for all Ferelden..." She said.

"Please, do not worry, love..." Bryce began.

"Do not tell me that everything will be alright!" She nearly shouted. "That both of you will be fine and that there is nothing to worry about!"

"I wasn't going to." He admitted. "I was going to say that worry causes wrinkles. That should get you to stop." Eleanor laughed in spite of herself. Bryce put a protective arm around her. She took his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. They continued to look after where the last of the army had disappeared.

"When?" she asked quietly.

"Howe's army should arrive by morning and we will leave then." He said quietly.

"Good thing we have already said our good-bye's then." She said. After several quiet moments reflecting on the events of the previous night, she said. "Kathryn is not happy about being left behind."

"I know. She would be a great help too. But I can't risk both of them. A blight, even a large darkspawn raid, if that is all this is, is not to be taken lightly. If the worst should happen, one of them needs to survive." He said.

"And Fergus can't stay behind because he is the heir and a man and if she went and he didn't..." her voice drifted off. "She is interested in joining the Grey Wardens."

"I know. I saw it in her eyes." He let out a deep sigh. "If the hoard is not defeated in the south..."

"No, Bryce, you cannot allow it. I won't allow it." She said with force.

"She may not give us the option." He said.

"She will not defy you. You must not..." She started.

"Eleanor, she has to do something."

"And what is wrong with getting married, having children, raising a family?" She asked.

"Nothing, if that is what you want, but she wants something else." He said.

"You raised her to be too independent, too strong, too willful..." She said.

"No, that is her nature, her disposition and you know it." He said. Eleanor looked away. "I raised her to be a teryn. She was my daughter. I had to. It was my responsibility. If something had or, Maker forbid, does happen to Fergus, she is in line to the rule of Highever. Should I have put her into that position unprepared? Put Highever into the hands of an untrained girl raised to serve her husband tea?"

"No, of course not." Eleanor said. "I just... hate to see her alone."

"There is someone out there for her, someone who respects and loves her for the strength she has, someone she can respect and love." Bryce said with more confidence than he felt on the subject.

"Whether she ever finds them is another story." She said sadly. She turned to Bryce placing a hand on his chest. "We were so lucky to have been matched as we were. I never realized how lucky till recently, till trying to find a match for her, how rare a thing we have. I think that she wants that too. I thought it would be easy to find for her but it isn't, is it?"

"No, it isn't." He said.

She smiled and said "I still remember my parents telling me I was to marry 'Bryce Cousland'. My sister and I imagined all sort of ways for me to get out of it. Everything from faking the plague, to filling the hall with stink bombs."

"All you would have had to do is spoil the drink. You can't have a wedding in Ferelden without ale." He said.

"I'll remember that one." She said. "But as it turned out not necessary. I saw you in the hall that night and thought, 'There is a man I could marry, lie with, bear his children and be happy with.' I even pointed you out to my sister as just the man for me and then to be introduced to you and find that you were my betrothed!"

"I remember," he said with a laugh. "You nearly shouted 'You're Bryce Cousland!' I thought you must be very disappointed, that perhaps my mother had oversold my virtues to you."

"No, quite the opposite. I was thrilled and have been every day since." She said.

"I remember seeing you for the first time too. You so struck me." He said remembering.

"With my great beauty, no doubt." She said.

"No, that wasn't it." He said considering. "Not that you weren't, but that wasn't what I first noticed."

"Then what?" She asked.

"Your manner, the air about you. You stood there, with such presence, like you were ready to take on the world. I thought there is a woman to go forth into life with. That is the type you want at your side."

"Oh, Bryce." She said warmly.

"That and the fact that the bodice on your dress was about a size too small." He said remembering.

"Bryce! I can't believe you. You were betrothed!" She said in horror.

"But to you." He pleaded.

"You did not know that." She said.

"I figured that was the point of it, to show off your... features." He said.

"No, the dress was made special and I had... grown since the last fitting. You are terrible." She said with a smile. He took her into his arms. After a moment she said. "I just want them to be as happy as we have been."

"I know, my love, but we cannot live her life for her. She is old enough and sensible enough to make her own choices, and we must respect them. But it does no use to think on such things now. Much may or may not happen before then."

3.2 Kathryn and Drake

Kathryn closed the door behind her. She was being left behind, in this as in all, it seemed. It truly wasn't fair or right, or make any sense at all. If anyone should be going it should be her. Father was Teryn of Highever with a wife and children. Fergus had a wife and child. She had... no one, nothing... well, except Drake. She looked up to see him pull a lamb bone out from under her bed.

"What is that?" She asked him. He looked up to her and barked a happy bark. "Did you steal that from the larder?" He cocked his head to the side and gave a hurt whine. "Did Nan give it to you?" Another happy bark. "It is a good thing that she dislikes you so much or she'd have you fattened up like a cow." He gave another happy bark and began to attack his treasure.

They had shared this room for over three years. One of the mabaris in the castle's kennel was having a litter. Mabaris have litters only once every two to three years and those litters contain three or four pups. Small, true, but the survival rate is very high unless there is a fifth puppy, which nearly always dies. As there was in this case and as with every instance of a five pup litter, the last one was a runt. This one worse than most. Not even half the size of the others. His back legs were shriveled and tucked up under him.

"Nothing to do for him." The kennel master said indicating the runt.

"What do you mean? Father, what does he mean?" She asked already knowing the answer.

"Pup, with four healthy puppies, the bitch won't have enough milk for him. He will die."

"But someone could feed him." She pleaded.

"For what purpose?" he asked. "He is crippled. He will never be able to walk and is of no use. This way is better."

"What way? To kill him. But he has just been born. You cannot condemn him so quickly, before he has even had a chance. He deserves a chance. Look even now he struggles to make his legs move. He isn't a cripple, but crushed, not given room to grow."

"Pup, you must learn to listen to those who know more than you about such things."

"I will when they do know more." She said.

"Kathryn!"

"He knows mabaris, yes. But he doesn't know this puppy. He is fighting. He wants to live. Let me have him. I can take care of him, get him healthy and walking. He just needs time." She pleaded.

"And what happens if he does not improve, if he is truly crippled and only suffers?" He asked her.

"Then I shall kill him myself." She said with determination and he could see she meant it. "Father," she said softly. "If you are so sure he will die then this is a perfect opportunity to teach me a very valuable lesson. I will take him and when he does I will have learned that I should listen to others more." She said sweetly.

"And if you are proven right yet again, and he lives and walks, then you will always believe you are right and never listen to anyone." He said.

"But Father, if I am always right, I have no need to listen to anyone else." Bryce tried as hard as he could but could not suppress a smile.

"She has a point, Father." Fergus said.

"You aren't helping." Bryce said. Fergus laughed. Bryce turned back to her. "You will not give this up, will you?"

"No." She said simply. "And I will be perfectly insufferable, if I do not get my way in this."

"You mean more than are now?" Fergus said. She glared at him.

"Alright," Bryce finally said. "...but you are not to bother the kennel master or anyone else with him. This is your responsibility alone."

"Thank you, Father." She gave him a quick kiss on the check and then went to collect her mabari.

"Mother will be thrilled." Fergus said.

"Yes, of that I am aware." Bryce said.

Kathryn gently picked up the tiny thing. "I shall call you, Drake, for you have the heart of a dragon. I know you do."

To the great surprise of all, except Kathryn, the pup lived. She fed him kitchen scraps and from her own plate, placing food just out of reach making him struggle to get it. She rubbed his tiny legs, stretching and pulling them, moving them for him for weeks. But she was proved right. The dog was not crippled. There was no deformity or problem with his legs. They simply had not had room to develop normally. After six months his legs had caught up in size to the rest of his body. Within a year, they had developed in strength and functioned normally. After eighteen months, he was indistinguishable from his brothers and sisters.

She brought him to the kennel with pride and a great deal of sadness. Bryce was there, knowing that this would be difficult for her. The kennel master smiled and looked over Drake. "Well, you were right. He is quite a dog, beautiful specimen. He will make you a fine companion."

"Me?" She asked looking at the kennel master and then at Bryce.

"Yes, I believe that you deserve him. Now take him out to the yard and we will begin training." She looked to Bryce who while being somewhat confused by the turn of events, nodded to her. As they walked out of earshot the kennel master said, "I did not expect that."

"What? I do not understand. I thought..." Bryce said confused.

"He has already imprinted on her. As you know Mabaris choose their masters and he has chosen."

"How do you know?" Bryce asked.

The kennel master smiled. "There are over thirty dogs here, four handlers, two trainers, a kennel master and a Teryn. A non-imprinted dog will survey the people and animals around, looking for the strongest one, the dominate one, be it man or animal. An imprinted dog pays no attention. The dog never looked away from her."

"I guess that is not surprising." Bryce mused. "Given that she has cared for him all this time."

"That has nothing to do with it." The kennel master said. "It is a pack instinct. The dogs may love their mothers who care and nurture them but they respect and obey their fathers, the leaders of the pack. A Mabari is the same. They do not imprint based on love or loyalty or gratitude. They imprint based solely on strength. The love and devotion, if it comes, comes later. I did not expect him to imprint to her. Rarely do they imprint to a female, especially a male dog, but he must sense something in her." After a few moments, he continued. "Fergus is lucky."

"To have such a sister..." Bryce asked.

"No, that she loves him as she does or else he may have one day found himself on the losing end of a battle for Highever."

3.3 Kathryn

Kathryn got undressed and crawled into bed. There would be much to do to tomorrow. She had to be up early. She was being left in charge of the castle but she knew that the task was at best a consolation prize and at worst a tether to keep her here, keep her from following the army to Ostagar. Father knew that she would not abandoned the castle, no matter how much she wanted to or its relative importance. He knew her too well. To be kept out of fighting... like... some... girl. This was to be her chance to prove that she was more than a respected name and a pretty face capable of bearing a noble's children.

She had to do something soon. There was no place for her here, not anymore. She was becoming the outsider and she felt it. Not that any of them made her feel that way or had ever thought it. That was just the truth of it.

Only so long could she avoid one of Mother's matches. Father had understood that she would never be happy with just anyone and wanted her to maker her own choice. Mother was more practical and wanted her and any potential grandchildren to be provided for. But, one day Mother would convince Father to insist upon her marriage and then she would have no choice. It wasn't that she didn't want that, she did, but she also wanted something more. She wanted to do something important with her life, not just be someone's wife. And she wouldn't get married just because that was what she was supposed to do, to just anyone with enough coin to keep her in silks. No, she wanted what her parents had, that magic and passion, that love and devotion that the bards sing of and that she had seen on a daily basis all her life. They loved and respected each other, took joy in the other one. To have grown up with that example, it was hard to accept anything less knowing for sure that it did truly exist. But she had not realized what a special and rare thing they had.

Most of the nobles, Mother tried to match her up with wanted her for her name or beauty. They didn't want her for her, for her strength, personality and character. They all wanted a proper wife, to serve them, to differ to and fawn over them, to be weaker than them and look up to them. Most couldn't hold her interest for an entire conversation. But perhaps she was waiting for something that would never happen. Perhaps all men only wanted proper wives. Even Fergus who she loved and who loved and respected her more than anyone choose a proper wife for himself. Mother was strong willed to be sure but devoted to Father. Even the great Calenhad married the beautiful Mairyn and not the warrior Lady Shayna.

What if she never found anyone like that? Anything like this? Was she willing to risk being alone to wait for what might never happen? Or would something less be enough? Or at least better than nothing? Would she truly rather be by herself? If that were the case, then she really did have to do something soon.

There was the Grey Warden. He had said that she would make an excellent candidate for recruitment. There could be worse fates than to fight for the salvation of the world, especially now that a blight was upon them. Could anything be more important? It would be something, to leave all she had known to fight monsters. But if the choice was that or marriage to some insufferable noble or being the dotty old aunt wandering the castle, well her choice was clear.

He had come to test Ser Gilmore, who for his part was thrilled to even be considered. If he was recruited, then she would not be alone in this new path. And the thought of losing him, of him also moving on with his life and being left behind yet again, filled her with dread like nothing else.

They had been raised together. He had come to squire at the castle when he was only ten and she barely eight. Fergus was older and nearly a man, so it was always just the two of them. They played, studied, trained and grew up together. Then one day, she was no longer a child but a woman and looked at him differently. They had kissed, in the kitchen, armory, barracks, in the rain, and anyplace they could find, even the chantry. Eventually, they were caught. Father put a stop to it. Roland had been the only one who had not laughed at her when she said that she wanted to fight the dragon and not be rescued. That seemed so long ago before he was a knight and she a lady. He was a good man, kind, brave and a talented warrior. She had never even considered that he would ever leave the castle, ever leave her. But there was no reason for him to stay, nothing here for him, not the way things were.

The castle was quiet. Her eyes finally closed and she rolled over to her side and fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4: The Calm

4.1 Ser Gilmore

Ser Gilmore had made probably a hundred laps of the castle in the last several days, preparing the army to leave for Ostagar and now getting ready for the arrival of the Arl's men. He was severely disappointed to not have marched with the rest of the army. He suspected that the Teyrn had assigned him to guard the castle because he wanted him here to help Kathryn in case anything happened or, Maker forbid, if the battle in the south went terribly wrong. However, there may have been another motive. Kathryn had confirmed the rumors that there was indeed a Grey Warden in the castle and that he was there at least in some small part to test him for possible recruitment. He was thrilled beyond measure and was trying hard not to think about it and failing, miserably.

Serving the Teyrn was a great honor and he took great pride in it. The Teyrn was a good man and a good ruler and becoming a knight more than he could have otherwise hoped for. The Teyrn and his family had been so kind to him. He could not have asked for a better patron. He owed them everything. They treated him nearly as family, even sending him off on menial errands he was happy to do. The fact that the Teyrnia even would ask such a thing of him was an indication of how they didn't think of him as just a knight in their service but as a person and friend.

He was determined that he would not leave without the Teyrn's blessing. But if the Grey Warden was asking so openly about him, it must be with the Teyrn's knowledge. And the fact that both he and the Grey Warden were staying behind, could not be a coincidence. To join the Grey Wardens was also great honor and a great responsibility. None were more respected, even here in Ferelden where they had been outlawed for ages. If you were recruited, it proved something about you and could give a fresh start, no matter the circumstances. It was the added benefit to dedicating yourself to the salvation of all, to fighting the worst creatures in the maker's world, to be all that stood between the land and its utter destruction. The sacrifice they make so that the rest do not have to was immense, not only risking and giving their lives, but turning away from all they were before. Then to be called on to do things that were necessary but difficult, such a burden was terrible. Not all could do it. It required so much more than just an ability to fight. And now that there was a blight, the need for Grey Wardens was even greater. There were not that many in Ferelden having only been allowed back into the country about twenty years ago. They would need all the assistance they could get.

He had never thought to leave the castle, being content to serve the Teyrn. This was his home more than even his father's lands in the bannorn. His only regret was leaving Kathryn. They had grown up together and been the best of friends. Even now as adults with the restrictions of class separating them, they were still close. Although not as close as they once had been. There had been a time when they had fancied themselves in love... maybe they had been... maybe... he still was. They had stolen kisses when they could. He had kissed others since, even lain with them, but none had touched his heart the way she had. The way, if he was honest with himself, she still did. But their positions made anything, any future an impossibility. He should be ashamed of that episode, embarrassed to have acted in such a way to the daughter of his lord. He had risked his entire future for those few moments. But thinking back on those times, the kisses shared in the dark, he could not regret it. He had been lucky when they had been discovered that the Teyrn hadn't sent him back to his father in shame. It would have been his right. He did not know if he could have born it or what it would have done to his father. He had begged but the Teyrn had said that there was no need, he would not send him back. The Teyrn was a good and understanding man, and had only asked for a promise that it end. It made him all the more devoted to him.

But he knew that one day soon, she would be married off and gone from the castle and then the place wouldn't be home the way it was now. It would be difficult to stay behind and walk these very halls expecting to see her around every corner and for her not to ever be there. Most, he knew, only wanted her for her name or beauty which was considerable, he had to admit. But to watch as she was forced to marry someone like that, someone who did not appreciate her for her strength and fire, who she did not love nor respect and who neither loved nor respected her, a situation which unfortunately seemed likely, was a lot to ask of him.

But he didn't have time to think on such things right now, there would be time tomorrow after the Teyrn had left. He hadn't even met the Grey Warden much less impressed him enough to be recruited. But one last indulgence, before he put all such thoughts from his mind for the night. He had to admit and had to her, that if there way anyone in the castle a Grey Warden should consider for recruitment, it should be her, especially with a blight upon them. He knew the Teyrn wouldn't allow it but if she wanted to join, he may reconsider and then they would be together and perhaps... but enough. He had many things to do and the night was wearing on.

4.2 Duncan

The elven servant opened the door to the guest room, entered it and looked around making sure that everything was as it should be. It was. He held the door for Duncan to enter. "Here you are, ser. Is there anything else you need? Anything I can get you?"

Duncan looked around the room, clean, warm and comfortable, better than the vast majority of places he had slept. "No, I'm... Yes, there is. Could you get me a glass of warm brandy? Nothing special just whatever is on hand."

Duncan could see the elven servant consider the request for a second, not that he had any thought to refuse but just that he was considering how to fulfill such a request. As the elf's eyes widened again, Duncan could see that it would be a simple enough request to fulfill and was relieved. He hated to cause trouble for servants, especially elven ones, they had enough problems. Although the Teyrn and his family apparently treated all the servants very well and they in turn seemed devoted to the family.

"Yes, of course, ser. That is no problem. I shall be back with it shortly."

"Thank you." Duncan said. The servant turned around and stepped out the door, closing it behind him.

Duncan had gotten into the habit of taking a glass at night. It helped with the nightmares, not much but a little. Not the nightmares of the archdemon, the ones that told of the blight. Nothing helped those. The archdemon was too powerful and too close. But the other ones, the ones that had crept up on him, subtly infiltrating his dreams. The ones that sat on the edge of his consciousness, like a wolf stalking its prey, the ones that told him in no uncertain terms that his callings was close, that it had in fact already started, that it was time. They had started many months ago, before any of them had any hint a blight was coming. At first he didn't understand, didn't realize what they were. It acts like quicksand. At first you don't notice anything but before you comprehend what is going on, it is too late. When the others started having nightmares too, he had hoped that it wasn't his calling but the blight that was causing them. But no these were different. In those, there was the archdemon, there to see and fight, the enemy clear, but in the others the enemy was inside him, incideously tearing at his mind, and there was no way to defeat it. It was going to win and it knew it. Perhaps the blight had hastened the taint in him. Or perhaps it was simply his time.

He told them, the new Grey Wardens, that they had thirty years but in truth that was the maximum. The average time between when a warden took their joining and when they went for their callings was about twenty years, for some it was as little as ten or even five. If was different for all, depending on race, gender and the age of the person when they took the joining. He had beaten the average, but the timing couldn't be more interesting. He only prayed to be able to hold onto his health and sanity till he saw the end of the blight. He prayed to the Maker that he would die ending the blight, doing his duty, that it would be his hand that held the blade that killed the archdemon, that it was his life that would be sacrificed. But he also knew that it wasn't up to him.

The death sentence was not easy for many to accept. Many felt, and justifiably so, betrayed. When he had told Alistair, he had grown angry. He had shown a temper that Duncan had not expected from him, a fury nearly terrible. Alistair had lashed out yelling at him and then stormed out. Later, he had come back and apologized, sincerely ashamed at what he had said and done, but in truth Duncan had already forgiven him. It was so very wrong that everyone in Alistair's life had lied or betrayed or abandoned him, even him, or at least he would soon.

His friend had asked if he was fond of him and he was. It was in truth hard not to be. He tried to keep him close knowing that his time with him was limited and knowing that he did need work, needed confidence and to somehow find a belief in himself, needed to learn restraint and that there was a time and place for things.

Like revealing that you were having the nightmares, that your calling was close. The wardens generally didn't talk about such things, most only mention the fact right before leaving for their calling and many just leave. The warden commander admitting to that, especially during a blight and to a junior member of the order was just not to be done. But he had admitted that to Alistair, surprised in his trust and confidence in one not only so young but that he did not know well.

That fact had proved more of a burden than he would have thought, to have this secret weighing on him, wondering if your mind was still your own and if you would even know it if wasn't. He had known this day would come, of course, but he had never found anyone to replace him. Someone he felt confident enough to groom for leadership. He had to hang on as long as possible, with the blight he had no choice. He had been unsure of Alistair's reaction but he had reacted with concern, a willingness to help in any way, a clear understanding of why it must be kept secret for now and a promise to Duncan that if at any time he had even a question about Duncan, he would tell him or tell the other senior grey wardens. Defeating the blight was the most important thing, all else must fall to that, loyalty and even friendship. He had seen in Alistair's eyes that he understood and would do what he thought best. It gave Duncan much comfort.

Duncan set his pack down and pulled out his recruitment notes. He wanted to write up this thoughts and information while is was still fresh in his mind. He went over the day's events. He had been impressed with the Teyrn and liked him. He seemed a good man, an intelligent man, dedicated to the rule of Highever and to Ferelden, one who understood and wanted to do his duty. To Duncan's relief he took the darkspawn threat seriously, even if some of the reports only suggested a large raid and not a blight. He had heard that when Maric disappeared many had suggested that he would make a better ruler than Cailan. He wondered now if that might not actually be the case. He knew that he would feel much better with him at Ostagar.

He pulled out a sheet of paper. At the top was written 'Ser Roland Gilmore, knight in the service of Teyrn Bryce Cousland of Highever, 24 year old, Human, Male, Warrior.' Below that the facts he knew about him. He had taken the opportunity of asking around the castle about him and had confirmed what he had heard. He skipped down to the blank area and wrote:

'Reported by several castle servants and soldiers: Good man and skilled warrior. Well liked and well respected, possessed of a quiet manner and a calm demeanor, not one to panic in pressure situations, but should not mistake that for any lack of confidence nor aggressiveness in battle. He was raised with the Teryn's daughter and nearly part of the family. Loyal and dutiful.'

He had not actually met him yet, with the Teyrn and the army leaving, he had much to do and there would be time after they all had left for Ostagar. From all he had heard, Ser Gilmore seemed an excellent candidate, and he was looking forward to meeting him. That was in truth the only way for him to know if he was suitable or not.

He knew what he was looking for in him as in all candidates, but he was hard pressed to be able to define it. Most thought the Grey Warden only recruited the most skilled, the most experienced, the fearless, the powerful, the honorable and the good. But that was not the case. Skills can be taught, experience gained, the fearless are often reckless, the powerful often overconfident. In truth, when facing the destruction of all, honor is not that important and the good may not have the heart to do what is necessary. He looked for a... something, a bearing, a demeanor, a toughness both mental and physical, a strength of mind of body but mostly of will, and above all character. He looked for those things innate to a person, those attributes that cannot be taught.

He put the notes on Ser Gilmore aside and took out another sheet and wrote at the top: 'Kathryn Cousland, second child of Bryce Cousland, Teyrn of Highever, 22 year old, Human, Female, Rogue.'

He had meet Kathryn, and while she was most definitely beautiful, there was a... something... in her eyes, that... something, the something he searched everywhere for. He had overheard the Teyrn telling her that he was leaving her in charge of the castle while they traveled to Ostagar, and she was not happy about it. That the Teyrn would even consider taking his daughter, was something. That he was also confident enough in her to leave her in charge of Highever while he was away, also impressive, and told much about the Teyrn's opinion of her.

She had asked about the situation in the south and when he had mentioned that she would be an excellent candidate, she seemed intrigued by the idea. The Teyrn reacted as Duncan had expected and he had made clear that he had no intention of conscripting her, which was true. He had just wanted her to understand that he was interested, and after spending only moments in her company he was, very.

Fire and will, strength and decorum, understood duty and fulfilled it even not what she wanted, intelligent. She was obviously a rogue but while her skill was not up to the level of a soldier, she had talent. The skill would come easily and quickly. He knew that given the situation, he would not have her at Ostagar but if horde wasn't broken, which he suspected it wouldn't be, perhaps pushed back which would give them more time, she may prove an invaluable asset. He would make it a point to talk to her tomorrow. If becoming a Grey Warden was something that she wanted, he had very little doubt that she could make it happen.

He wrote 'Recommended for recruitment.' He put down his pen and looked at the sheet. From the stack of papers he picked up one. The writing across the top said, 'Alistair, templar initiate, 20 years old, Human, Male, Warrior.' Afterwords was written only the words: 'Recruited.' and then further down 'Passed joining.'

He placed it next to the other one. They were the two best candidates he had found in all his time in Ferelden. And they were needed, so very desperately. He replaced the papers in his pack. It was late and the next day would be busy. He started to get undressed, when he remembered his brandy. The servant had been gone a long time. Suddenly Duncan got a very bad feeling. He had learned over time to trust such instincts. He picked up his pack and stepped into the hall. Everything was quiet, calm and seemingly normal. Then there was a noise Duncan couldn't place. He heard voices loud and angry coming from the front gate. Duncan drew his sword and began to run.


	5. Chapter 5: The Storm

5.1 The Attack

Duncan ran out of the family quarters down the main hall past the small atrium. He turned the corner in time to see four armed men surrounding the Teyrn. One was pulling a sword from the Teyrn's side. The Teyrn collapsed into a heap. Duncan attacked. He knocked the sword away from the first and then gutted him with his dagger. He spun around catching the next in the throat. The next recovered from the surprise and attacked him, but Duncan easily side stepped him. With a backhand motion, he stabbed him in the side of the neck. The last bashed him with his shield. Duncan recovered his footing quickly but kept his sword low and looked to the ground. The man charged expecting Duncan to still be stunned. Then with a quick uppercut, he buried his dagger into the man's chest. He pulled out the dagger and, not waiting to watch the man fall, hurried to the side of the Teyrn.

"Duncan!"

"Do not speak and try not to move." Duncan looked at the wound as blood flowed out. He had seen such wounds before and knew that it was fatal. The Teyrn would slowly bleed to death and there was nothing he could do. Even a healer, if one could be found soon enough, could do nothing.

Duncan looked up. His eye caught the shield of one of one of the armed men. It bore the symbol of Ameranthine. It seemed Howe's men had finally arrived. He turned instinctively towards a noise and saw several more of Howe's men emerge from the Main Hall and start to run towards them. He stood up. "Stay down." He told the Teyrn. He took a couple steps in front of the Teryn, drew his weapons and waited for the men.

As they approached, a red haired man in massive armor came running up beside him. "Warden Commander." He said while drawing his sword. At that the first of the men attacked. Ser Gilmore countered the blow, punched the man and then followed the blow with a heavy strike from his sword. A second man attacked him, Ser Gilmore blocked it. Running past the dueling pair another man attacked Duncan. Duncan parried the blow, countered, was blocked, dodged the next two strikes and then stabbed the man with his dagger. He looked up to see that Ser Gilmore had dispatched his previous opponent and was now working on a second. Duncan ran up. Ser Gilmore saw him and positioned himself so that the man turned away from Duncan. Duncan struck, killing him in a single blow. For the moment the lane was clear.

"Ser Gilmore?" Duncan said to the man.

"Yes, I... Maker's Blood!" Ser Gilmore's eyes had caught sight of the Teyrn and he fell to his knees at the Teyrn's side. "Your lordship!" Ser Gilmore said with much emotion. Duncan could tell by his tone that he understood the extent of the Teyrn's injuries.

"Roland... What is happening?" The Teyrn asked.

"Howe's men have attacked the castle. Please, you have to flee." Ser Gilmore said.

"I must find Eleanor and Kathryn." The Teyrn repled. Ser Gilmore looked to Duncan, both knew he was in no condition to do anything of the sort.

"Is there another way out of the castle? A secret entrance, one hidden or not well known, something Howe's men are likely to miss?" Duncan asked.

"The kitcher... larder." The Teyrn said. "They will go... there if anywhere."

"I will take the Teryn there and then look for the Terynia and Kathryn." Duncan said.

"I must get to the gate. I will hold them as long as I can, give you as much time as possible." Ser Gilmore said. He held out his hand for Duncan, who took it. "Warden Commander, it was an honor." Without waiting for a reply, he ran off.

Duncan, as gently as he could, helped the Teryn to his feet and for all intents and purposes carried him to the kitchen. The elven servants were already dead. He pushed open the larder door and put the Teryn down. Almost immediately a pool of blood began to spread around him. Duncan knew he didn't have much time left. "Please, stay down. I will return as soon as I am able." The Teyrn nodded and put his head down. Duncan left the room closing the door behind him.

As he left the kitchen, he heard a noise from overhead. He looked up to see that either by design or accident fires had started around the castle. He watched as the top portion of the wall came down, blocking the way he had come. He ran down the other hall, trying each of the doors. Finally he found one that opened to the main hall.

Ser Gilmore and a few other soldiers were fighting over a dozen of Howe's men. Duncan could see that they had managed to shut the gate, lock and bar it. He drew his sword and charged in, attacking one that was trying to flank Ser Gilmore. Within a few moments, the majority were defeated. Ser Gilmore turned to Duncan. "Did you find them?" Duncan shook his head. "The gate won't hold." Ser Gilmore continued. "We'll delay as long as we can but be swift." Duncan nodded and ran out of the room.

He turned and ran back towards the family quarters. There seemed to be many more bodies than previously but Duncan simply noted the fact and hoped that Howe's men that had infiltrated the castle had all been killed by the guards and kept going. He prayed that none had made it to the bedrooms, but that had not been the case. In front of the door to his room, several of Howe's men lay dead. The door to the family's rooms was open. There a few more lay on the stone floor. He looked into the Master Bedroom. It was empty as were the chests in the room. At least the Teyrnia had escaped. He looked into one of the side rooms and saw a woman and small boy lying dead. Fergus's room, no doubt his wife and child. He looked inside the other room. A servant was lying dead in the doorway an arrow in his back. Two more of Howe's men were dead inside. The weapon and armor racks and a chest were all empty.

He turned and ran back down to the main part of the castle. Now the trail of dead bodies made sense. He could now see that while many had injuries from swords, arrows and even dog attacks most had been killed by daggers. As far as he knew there were only two people in the castle that fought with a dagger and he was the other one. He ran back into the main hall. Ser Gilmore and two other guards were holding the door. The bolts on the gate were broken and the post used to bar the gate now lay in pieces. Another post was being used but Duncan could see that the door itself and the frame were beginning to crack.

Ser Gilmore looked to Duncan and said "They came through here... I... sent them to kitchen... both Teyrnia and Kathryn... gate... won't hold." Duncan could see that it was taking all the strength he had left to hold the gate closed. Duncan hated to leave him here but knew none of them would have time to escape if he left his post. He also knew that nothing he said or did would convince Ser Gilmore to do so.

Duncan placed a hand on his shoulder, "Ser Gilmore, I would like to offer you a place within the Grey Wardens. If the Maker wills, join us." Ser Gilmore smiled at him and than said. "Thank you. But please, hurry. Get her out of here." Duncan nodded and reluctantly ran out.

As he entered the kitchen he could hear voices coming from the larder, the Teyrn and two female ones. He knew what he had to do, what the blight forced him to do. He knew it would be one of the hardest things he had ever had to do as Warden Commander. He was about to ask a dying man for the life of his child. But if he didn't, he knew that she would seek vengeance on Howe, even to her death, even to the detriment of defeating the blight and he couldn't allow it. She was needed and he would not let her throw her life away for revenge, not with so much else at stake. He hoped that the Teyrn would understand, that he would help him. If he didn't, if she didn't listen, he may be forced to more drastic measures but hoped that it would not come to that.

He heard the Teyrn say, "The castle is surrounded. I cannot make it." as he stepped into the larder.

5.2 The Road

They had been walking for hours. Duncan knew that they had to get as far away from the castle as they could. Out of the reach of Howe as soon as possible. At some point, they would realize that they had escaped and try to hunt them down. Whatever Howe's plan was, it did not include anyone escaping to tell the king or the landsmeet what had happened. They stayed off the main highway, away from any town or village as best they could. It was essential that they leave no trace of them passing through, that they simply disappear into the landscape.

Duncan noted with satisfaction that despite all that she had been through Kathryn still had the presence of mind to be discrete, to put her hair up and over her face, to not look anyone in the eye, to pretend to cough or sneeze when anyone passed.

She had not spoken since they left the castle. She had followed his lead, doing all he said without question or hesitation. Not out of loyalty or even respect but simple necessity. The stress and strain of all that had happened had pushed her to her limit. She trusted him at least to the extent that he didn't want either of them to get captured or even discovered. And sneaking out of her home past guards wanting to kill her, not something she really had any idea of how to do. But she picked up essentials of stealth quickly, intuitively understanding the idea of slow movement and then quick action, of patience and haste, of shadow and noise.

Once they were out of immediate danger, she had suddenly raced up a hill and stood at the top, looking back to the castle. The bells had long since stopped ringing. Smoke no longer rose from it. It was still and calm. She looked back knowing that all inside were now dead. She looked a long time. There were no tears, no expression, whatever she felt she held close to her. Duncan had the feeling of watching iron become steel. Then without word or warning, she turned and walked away.

Hours later they were still walking. Duncan thought that they had nearly put enough distance between them and the castle but wanted to make the next ridge. Put too many options about where they might be or where they might have gone for Howe's men to explore. They were of course going to Ostagar and Howe knew that, so they would have to be careful but quick.

Duncan heard the dog, trot up to him and begin to whine. He stopped and looked at him. The dog barked, satisfied that he had Duncan's attention and then trotted back to where Kathryn was walking or wasn't walking. She was standing, head bowed and slumped. He hurried back to her in time to catch her as she fell. She was unconscious, passed out, most likely from exhaustion but he needed to check. If she had some internal bleeding or a head trauma... He looked around. Off the road way, there was a clump of trees, a place to camp for the night. He took her up in his arms and carried her to the spot and hoped they had gotten far enough.

5.3 Ser Gilmore

pain... sharp... dull... aches and stabbing... can't be dead... too much pain... sick... smoke... voices... don't move... can't move... hurt to breathe... hurt to think... but had to... what had happened... fighting... castle attacked... Howe's men... Then everything came back in a flash, the attack, the Teyrn injured, barring the front gate, the Teyrnia and Kathryn, a last kiss, barricading the door, the Grey Warden, the door and frame of the main gate giving way, Howe's men pouring inside. He had fought with all he had left, to buy the others time to escape. He had prayed that it had been enough and then everything had went black.

Now he was here, wherever here was. Eyes were closed and didn't yet want to risk opening them. He listened carefully. He could hear voices, ones that he didn't recognize. He methodically took inventory of his situation. He could feel all parts of his body and while everything hurt, nothing seemed to be broken, except maybe a cracked rib or two, or strained beyond use.

He could hear a fire. There was smoke, a horrible smell and a slight breeze. He was laying on his back but it didn't feel like he was laying on stone but the ground. He was outside. They had moved him outside, but why? Why not a cell in the dungeon? He tried to move, only could manage a little but it didn't feel like paralysis or an injury but more a restriction. Oh Maker! He thought as the realization hit him. They were burning the bodies! With his injuries they had thought him dead. The reason he couldn't move was the weight of the other bodies on top of him. It seemed the sheer number of dead had saved him, that and the fact that he was on the bottom of the pile. His massive armor the only thing preventing him from being crushed.

The voices were far enough away that he couldn't understand them. He decided to risk slightly opening his eyes. The light felt like pins in his eyes. Waves of nausea, washed over him, dizzy. Head trauma. He forced his eyes open, letting them adjust to the light. The light though blinding was soft and tinted, had to be late afternoon if not evening. As his eyes adjusted, slowly and painfully, he could make out the stack of limbs on top of him. He moved his eyes toward the sound of the voices and the fire. He could make out three guards, bleeding out the bodies and tossing them into a fire pit.

They were in the grounds behind the castle. There were woods close but the tree line was some twenty to forty feet away. If he could get to them without being noticed, he had a chance. He was under the pile but the guards were occupied and not paying any attention. 'If the Maker wills...' He slowly began to move, a little bit at a time. He would move, feel the pile shift and then wait, not daring to breathe, praying not to be noticed or discovered. Then move again, feel the pile shift and wait, pray and then again and again and again, fractions of an inch at a time. Had to be patient, not panic, not rush, again and again and again. Finally he brought his arm up to his chest and carefully pushed the body on top of him over, move, push, wait... move, push, wait, again and again. Then after what seemed an age, he was free of the pile. The light had faded, shadows pooled around the edges of the pit. The trees were over thirty feet away. He had a choice to make, quick or slow, creep through the distance, hoping the fading light and shadows would hide him or make a quick strong break for it. There was not much strength left in him, but there was a great deal of anger, pain and sorrow. He hoped it was enough.

Then two of the guards turned and started to walk over to the pile. He rolled over to his stomach, pain shooting through his sides, and moved close to the pile.

"Start on this stack." The one guard said to the other. "Arl wants this done quick, but remember to save the family till last. Howe wants to see them before burned."

"What's he waiting for?" the other asked.

"He is still talking to prisoners, trying to find out where the girl might have went." That could only mean one thing, Ser Gilmore thought, Kathryn had escaped. Thank the Maker! "He isn't at all happy she got away." The guard continued. "Someone's head is going to roll if she isn't found."

"Here I got this one, you get that guy on top." The first grabbed a body from the side of the pile and dragged it back where the other guard was draining the bodies before putting them into the pit. The other pulled down the body on top. Ser Gilmore grabbed him from behind. He put his hand over his nose and mouth, using weight to force him to the ground. He could suffocate him, make him pass out but that took time. He looked up and the other one was starting back. Ser Gilmore broke the guard's neck. He put him on top of the pile and hid behind it, crouched low to the ground.

"Hey, where did you go? Can't be wasting time. Arl's already in a bad mood. Fine time to take a piss." He then grabbed the top body and dragged it back placing it next to the first. As he dropped the body to the ground he looked at it and saw that it was the body of the other guard. "What...?!" Ser Gilmore jumped him trying to take him down like the first but he was too weak and had too many injuries. The man fought back and they fell to the ground. Ser Gilmore knew he couldn't let him out of his grasp or he was dead. He rolled him over, getting on top of him and with a quick hit crushed his windpipe.

Without looking he ducked, the strike from the other guard barely missing him. He got up too quickly, dizzy, he was forced to a knee. He watched as the guard rushed him. He grabbed the sword, getting to his feet and letting the guard push him back towards the pit. Then he let go of the sword and fell to the ground. The guard rushed past and straight into the pit. Ser Gilmore laid on the ground, trying to breathe, listening till the muffled screams of the guard stopped.

With a great deal of effort, he got to his feet. He knew he didn't have much time. He walked to the other end of the pit. There he saw the Teyrn and the Teyrnia. They both looked calm and at peace. The Teyrn had only the one injury. The Teyrnia also had only one, a vicious slash across her left forearm. Both had apparently died from blood loss, quietly and peacefully and before Howe's men had reached them. There was some small bit of justice that they had died together and unmolested.

He threw more wood into the fire. As the flames reached two stories, he took the body of the Teryn and gently tossed it on the pyre. He then put the Terynia next to him, and watched as they burned. The Arl would not abuse them, not get his victory, they had escaped. Now it was his turn. He grabbed a sword and shield from the ground. It was not his preferred weapon but he could use them and took off for the trees. He had to reach Ostagar, that was where Fergus and the king were and where Kathryn would be headed and besides, he had an offer to accept.


	6. Chapter 6: Night

Duncan watched as the evening light faded to black. The small fire crackled and burned. He looked over to where Kathryn slept. She hadn't moved at all since he had placed her by the fire. She didn't have any significant injuries, only a few cuts and bruises, no head trauma, no internal bleeding, nor ruptured organs or anything of the kind. He figured that her collapse was the result of exhaustion which had more to do with the mental strain of the day than its physical toil on her.

He kept watch on the road, but there had been nothing but a few travelers and locals. But still they had stayed out of their sight. Drake stood nearby watching the darkness, sniffing the air and listening. If anything came close he knew the dog would know. Somehow the mabari knew that they were being hunted and was on guard.

He opened up his pack. As he had walked through the kitchen, without thinking or even knowing he had done it, he had grabbed some food. It was a habit he had never let go of, despite or perhaps because of his years as a Grey Warden.

But as one battle hardened Grey Warden warrior told him when he had become Warden Commander, "All rogues have the soul of a thief. It is their nature. They believe that everything is theirs for the taking whether coin or power or an opponent's life. Everything is allowed as long as you can get away with it or are wiling to pay the price of it. They know nothing of nor care about honor or respect, right or wrong, decency, integrity, fairness, justness or goodness. You cannot trust them, ever. They will lie, beg, borrow and steal without a second thought it if suits their purposes and furthers their goals. They are always looking for an edge, sizing you up. Every contest is a battle of wits, not skill or strength. They do not play their strength to your strength, no they play to your weakness, exploit it. It is the coward's way."

Duncan had asked "What of a situation where what you are fighting for is of such importance that you must do whatever is necessary to achieve that end?"

He had snorted and answered, "See that's a rogue talking. They don't understand honor, why it's important. You don't have to explain honor to a warrior. They may not follow it but you don't have to explain it to them. They understand it, it is part of who they are."

Duncan then said "What if I were to say that warriors are simple minded creatures, who can only see how to fight with their arm and cry fowl and dishonor anytime they are beaten by wits. That they are too foolish to comprehend how their archaic notions of honor and fair-play, cause harm and prevent the achievement of goals that would provide the most benefit for the most people."

The old warrior smiled at Duncan and had held out his hand. Duncan took it, and then the warrior said "It seems we understand each other perfectly, my friend, Warden Commander."

They had fought side by side for many years, then one day he was gone. As so many of his friends now were. He had never found another partner. Many of the Grey Wardens fought in pairs or in small groups, at least they preferred to. They would practice together, developing strategies and tactics together. The practice made them better fighters, the friendships better wardens. Bonds of trust and loyalty develop, allowing them to accomplish so much more than if they were simply a group of individuals. At times those bonds became something more. There were not many such relationships among the Grey Wardens simply because there were so few female wardens. At the present time, there were none here in Ferelden. Some of the Grey Wardens were married to others, of course. Many of them worked for the Grey Wardens as cooks or armorers, etc. There were on occasion relationships between the men. Duncan had made it clear to all, that a warden's personal life was their own as long as it did not interfere with their duty. It was the least he could do for old friends, long gone.

Duncan looked back to Kathryn. His friend had said that she could be trouble and he could see how. He had no doubt at all that she could have most any man wrapped around her finger within moments, if she had the desire to. It was a good thing that most agreed she had a good and generous heart and was above playing with people's emotions. He, himself, was not completely immune. If he wasn't twice her age, if there was no blight, if his calling had not begun, in short if it was ten years ago, but it wasn't.

He took his notes out of his pack and thumbed through them. He knew better than to make plans for recruits, to get too close to them, since you never knew who would pass the joining or not. Some you were sure would make it, didn't and some you thought had very little chance, survived. But it was a rule he broke much more than he ever kept. But he told himself it was better to be prepared, there would be little enough time after the joining.

Ser Jory a knight from Highever. He thought to put him with another warrior and a mage. They had fought together for a while now but he knew Ser Jory would fit right in.

Daveth, the cut-purse from Denerim. He reminded him so much of himself or perhaps the man he was or would have been if not for... the Grey Wardens. There were not as many rogues as warriors in the Grey Wardens and very few mages. Daveth was quick with a blade, sure, but he had surprising skill with a bow. He would be a good back up to another pair of warriors he was thinking of.

Kathryn, he had not seen her fight but had seen her handiwork and gotten a glimpse of her personality and character. She was a fighter, one to be in the thick of battle where her fierceness was an asset, leading a charge, seemingly disappearing then reappearing in time to stab the opponent in the back as opposed to sneaking along the edges of the battle. Not that sneaking isn't important, the Maker knows, but not her style. Her greatest attribute, he believed, was her intelligence and instincts, her ability to adjust to the changing circumstances in battle and think on her feet.

But even such a rogue fights better in shadow, attacking from the side and the back, and to have a shadow you need a light. Someone to draw the attention of enemies, like a moth to flame. Someone who can get and hold their attention, distract them and allow her to use her abilities to best advantage. Someone adept at defense, someone who can give and take a great deal of punishment when needed and someone who can take on tougher opponents while she distracts and cripples them. Someone who understands that victory is what is important. Someone with the opposite set of talents, highly skilled, with equally good instincts, someone just as strong but in a different way... He had never really tried anything like that before. Generally went with the traditional match-ups but never had anyone to try it with...

He heard a noise and looked up from his notes. She was beginning to stir. He placed his papers back into his pack and brought out the food he had picked up: apples, cheese, bread and some cookies.

Kathryn shook her head and stretched, opening her eyes. He could see the sudden confusion as she initially didn't know or even understand where she was. Then it came back to her. She closed her eyes again and let the memory and sorrow wash through her. A deep breath and then she opened her eyes again and looked to Duncan.

He smiled a reassuring smile and said. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you." At least her manners had not deserted her.

"Come, you need to eat something." Duncan said. She got up and walked over to where he had laid out the food. She then stopped and looked confused.

"I have food too, I think." She looked around for her pack. She picked it up and then sat down by the food. She opened it and brought out: figs, dried meat, more bread, pastries and a bottle of wine. "I thought we... mother and I... might need... Actually I didn't really think about it, I just picked it up."

Duncan looked at the food with approval. "No, it shows great thought, just not consciously. Good instincts. Always listen to those, they will help you and even save your life on occasion." She nodded and picked up an apple. Drake got up and walked over to her. She scratched behind his ears and gave him some of the dried meat.

Though neither felt hungry, they finished off most of the food. They ate in silence. Kathryn stared into the fire, eyes not seeing anything, mind far away. Duncan waited, knowing that she would speak when she was ready.

He passed her some wine. She took it and then looked to him. "You have lost people, friends, family, I mean like this, suddenly... violently, no?"

"Yes, I have, as many people have." He said.

"Does it get better? Easier?" She asked.

Duncan considered what to say. "I think you simply get used to the pain. The sharp becomes dull, but it never fully heals. Then one day it is simply a part of you. And you continue on, as you must. But you will never be as you were before."

She smiled. "At least you are honest."

"Not with everyone." He said.

She smiled again. "No, you can't be, can you? In this as in everything else."

"No," he continued. "Some need comfort, some want truth. All go through such things differently. There is no right way to grieve. Some grieve intensely, the grief crippling them, for a while and then go on. Some simmer, hobbled, for years. Some in bits and pieces over time. All are different and all must find their own way through." He said.

"I never lost anyone like that. I don't really remember my grandparents. They died when I was small. Fergus does a little but..." Her voice trailed off and she was quiet again. "I'm ashamed of myself for being so angry..." she started.

"Of course, you are angry. That is normal..." he said.

"...at mother." She looked up to Duncan. "She stayed. Leaving me to tell Fergus what happened, to perhaps bear the burden of vengeance for all of them... myself... alone... to help defeat the blight, even reclaim Highever... She stayed and left me alone..." Duncan took another drink of wine, keeping his eyes on her. Listening. She bagan again. "I always wanted that, what they had together but to love one so much that you do not even wish to live without... it must be a terrible thing."

"Yes," Duncan said gently. "But a beautiful thing too. Many would trade their lives for something such as that."

"Isn't that what the bards sing of?" She asked a touch bitterly. "The beautiful maidens who die for the loss of their loves, the knights..." she winced. Then continued. "I always thought that was made up by the bards. I know love exists, deep love for another even... but..."

"It must exist for them to be able to sing about it, even if they have never experienced it themselves." Duncan said.

"Just because it does exist does not mean it is a good thing, a desirable thing." She said.

"True, but what do you think your parents would say about it?" He asked.

She looked to Duncan and then back to the fire. After a while she said, "We wouldn't have escaped the castle if she had come, would we?"

"I don't know. But it would have been more difficult." Duncan said.

"Nothing would be different if I had stayed, would it?" She asked.

"Except that you would now also be dead, no." Duncan said.

"They told me to go, said I had to for my sake and for Ferelden's. I had to help stop the blight, warn Fergus, take vengeance, perhaps retake and rule Highever, do my duty. And I know that they would not have wanted me to stay, to sacrifice myself for nothing, and it would have been for nothing. I know that in my heart but yet it still feels like I abandoned them. That I could have... should have done... something. That somehow it is my fault. I wanted to go to Ostagar, even wanted to join the Grey Wardens but I couldn't… and now I am..."

"No." Duncan said with force. He sat up and leaned towards her. She looked up surprised. "Everyone wants to blame themselves when something like this happens. They want to think that there must have been something they could have done, even if there wasn't. Because it lets you feel that somehow you are in control. Your fate is your own, when in so many cases it is not. You cannot blame yourself for what happened. You can only accept it and continue on the best you can." He hoped that the strength of his words would have an effect. He watched her, unsure. Then said. "Death is assured, all that is up to us is how we live. The good we can do in the time we have. The difference we can make."

"Is that why you are a Grey Warden?" She asked without any sarcasm.

"No. I was conscripted, against my will, I might add." He said.

"But became a true believer?" She asked.

"Something like that. But I was given time, time I shouldn't have had. And hopefully I will be judged by what I have done with that time. You have been given time. Spend it wisely." He said and then leaned back.

"Are you glad you were conscripted?" She asked.

"Most days." He said with a slight smile.

She stared into the fire and then up into the sky. After long moments she turned back to him. "The blight must be defeated." Duncan wondered if she was even aware that she was using the words of her father. She continued "I understand that and I will do all I can to see that end. But once that is done and if Howe still lives and if I survive, I'm going to kill him, somehow, someway."

"Yes, I know." He said.

"And I want you to promise me something."

"If I can." He said unsure.

"That if I don't see the end of the blight and Howe does... promise me that you'll see to it that he pays." She looked up to him with an odd mix of hope, sorrow and resolve.

Duncan looked at her for a long moment and then said "If I survive the blight and so does Howe, I promise that I will see him die, either by my hand... or yours."

She started to say something and then looked away, up into the stars. Finally she said. "You should get some sleep. I can keep watch." Duncan finished his wine and laid back upon the ground and was soon asleep.

Kathryn opened her pack and took out one of the few personal items she had brought with her. A journal. It was almost new. Only the first few pages had writing on them. She flipped through them: shopping lists for Denerim, notes on a new dress, social appointments, ideas for what to get for presents, comments on the insufferable noble mother wanted her to meet, bad poetry... She ripped out all of the old pages and threw them onto the fire. On the next page, she wrote out the name of everyone who had lived and had died at the castle: Bryce Cousland, Eleanor Cousland, Ser Roland Gilmore, Orenia, Oren, Nan, on and on. When she was done, at the very end of the list, she wrote 'Kathryn Cousland'. Then she ripped out the page, threw it onto the fire, and watched as it burned to ash.


	7. Chapter 7: Camp

7.1 Alistair

The elven messenger ran up to Alistair and held out a letter. "Delivery for you, ser. It just arrived by special messenger." Alistair took the letter, on the front was written 'Alistair of the Grey Wardens, King's Camp, Ostagar' in Duncan's hand.

Duncan had sent the rest of the Grey Wardens and the two recruits on to Ostagar while he was going to Highever, on the Teyrn's own invitation, to check on a potential recruit. Fergus Cousland had already arrived with the bulk of Highever's army. Alistair was not expecting a letter but Duncan's arrival. Something about this wasn't right.

"Did the messenger say from where he got the message or who he got it from?" Alistair asked.

"I asked, ser. He said he got it from a red-headed male elf with a scar over one eye in Denerim, ser." Alistair knew that there wasn't anyone like that in the Grey Warden compound. "But…" the messenger said thoughtful.

"Yes?" Alistair said.

"Well, he said he got the message in Denerim, ser, but then he commented about the weather on the lake."

Alistair nodded. "I see. Yes, thank you."

"Yes, ser." He then turned and ran off with his other deliveries.

For some reason, Duncan didn't want anyone to know where letter was coming from. But most knew he was at Highever, so why lie and no doubt pay the messenger to lie about where he got the message. He didn't like it. Alistair opened the letter.

'Alistair,  
On way, should arrive the day after you receive this letter. Inform others and king. Bringing new recruit, Kathryn, twenty-two year old female, human, rogue. Dual wielding dagger and some long bow. Impressive skills and character, very talented, clever, fierce, brave, strong willed, shows great promise. Get other recruits ready for test and joining. Duncan'

Something was definitely wrong. Not only had Duncan paid the messenger to lie about where he got the message but he hadn't given any indication of relative position or time of arrival in the letter itself.

But he had things to do. Including informing the king. Given that it was the thing he least wanted to do, and that he was 'the king' he'd do that first. If he was lucky Cailan would be out with the soldiers or riding with the rest of the Grey Wardens or talking with (or being talked at by) Loghain. Then he could inform the Royal Guard instead. At least, he could hope.

7.2 Alistair and Cailan

Yes, that would work out better for everyone. He figured Cailan at worst wouldn't want the reminder of his father's infidelity in his sight, and at best wouldn't want to be seen with him. The resemblance, despite the slight difference in coloring, was remarkable. That was, in fact, the way Alistair even knew the true identity of his father. The simple fact that he looked so much like Cailan.

He had never met Maric. No doubt Maric never forgave him for committing the unspeakable sin of being born, but he had meet Cailan when he was a child. Maric and Cailan had come to Redcliffe. The entire household was introduced to Cailan, who was apparently bored by the whole thing and much more interested in exploring the armory. But Alistair had been struck by how much he looked like him. It was like looking in a mirror. Later he had commented to the kitchen staff that maybe they were brothers. They had laughed. For it had always been assumed by everyone that he was the Arl's child but then he saw the looks, curious and thoughtful with eyes wide, and they had stopped laughing.

At first, the Arl tried to persuade him that it wasn't true, but the more he tried the more Alistair was convinced it was.

"Alistair you can't go around saying that Cailan is your brother." The Arl had said.

"Why not?" Alistair had asked.

"Because, he isn't. You know who your mother and father are and they are both gone to the Maker. Cailan's parents are the king and queen." The Arl had answered.

"But he looks like me." Alistair replied.

"Yes, he does, but..." Even the Arl couldn't deny the truth of that.

"Don't brothers look alike?" Alistair had asked.

"Yes, they do... but…" Arl said.

"Who does Cailan look like?" Alistair asked.

"His father, but Alistair… you aren't related to him." The Arl obviously didn't like this line of questioning.

"But if I look like him I have to be." And nothing the Arl said could change his mind.

Finally, the Arl had admitted the truth and had convinced him of the wisdom of keeping the identity of his father a secret for his own sake and for Ferelden. Besides he really didn't want the throne anyway and being a bastard had been enough of a problem. He didn't want to think about how much worse it would have been if it had been known he was Maric's bastard.

He had told Duncan, but he hadn't wanted to, because he could always tell after someone found out. They treated him differently and he hated it. But he also hadn't wanted to lie to him, especially after all Duncan had done for him. Sometime after his joining, Duncan had asked him why he was at the monastery since it was clear he didn't want to be there and had no interest in being a templar.

"My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe castle and she died when I was young, too young to remember her. The Arl let me stay until I was aged ten and then he sent me to the monastery." Alistair had told him.

"What about your father?" Duncan had asked.

"The man they told me was my father died before my mother." Alistair had said.

"I'm sorry." Duncan had said. Alistair had only shrugged. After a pause, Duncan had said. "You don't believe that he is your father, the man they told you was."

"No. He isn't… wasn't. I know that." Alistair had replied.

"I see." The unasked question was left hanging in the air. After several moments with Alistair looking at the floor. Duncan continued. "I didn't mean to bring up a delicate or painful subject. I was just asking about the monastery and why you were being trained as a templar. But please do not feel the need to say anything more than you feel comfortable. Within the Grey Wardens, the past doesn't matter."

"It isn't the Arl." Alistair said suddenly.

Duncan looked slightly surprised. "That would be the natural assumption."

"I know but he isn't. I don't even look like him." Alistair said. "That was the rumor, of course. It bothered the Arlessa and she had me sent to the monastery, but it's not him." Duncan waited. Alistair finally said. "It's… Maric… King Maric… that's my father."

Duncan's eyes got slightly wider and then he began to nod. "Yes, I can see the resemblance. That cannot be an easy thing to tell people."

"I'd really rather no one know. Everyone always treats me differently once they find out" Alistair said nearly pleading.

"Of course, I won't say anything. But I am glad you felt that you could tell me." Duncan had said with a smile.

Alistair arrived at the King's tent. He walked up to the Royal Guard. "Is the King here?"

"No, I think he is in the main camp with his soldiers." The guard replied.

"Oh, good. I mean… I got a message from Duncan…"

"From Duncan." Cailan said from behind him. Alistair turned around. Cailan was standing there with a couple of his bodyguards.

"Yes, your highness. It just arrived. He wanted me to inform you that he should be here tomorrow, hopefully, in time for the battle." Alistair said.

"Excellent. Thank you for telling me." Cailan said.

"Just doing what I'm told…" Alistair started to turn away and then turned back, looking Cailan in the eye he said "…your highness." He again started to walk away.

"He was in Highever, looking at a possible recruit, correct?" Cailan asked.

Alistair stopped and turned back to him. "Yes, your highness."

"And did he find one?" Cailan asked.

"Yes, he is bringing her with him." Alistair replied.

"Her?" Cailan sounded surprised.

"Yes, a female human, Kathryn." Alistair told him.

"Kathryn! Kathryn Cousland! The Teyrn's daughter?" Cailan said shocked.

"He didn't say." Alistair was now a bit confused. He thought over the letter. "He just said 'Kathryn'." Cailan seemed to consider the idea. Alistair waited a moment and then said. "If that's all I have other things to do, your highness."

"Yes, please. I don't want to keep you." Alistair gave a slight and reluctant bow and left.

When Alistair was out of earshot, one of the guards said. "Doesn't he know the proper way to speak to the king?"

Cailan looked after Alistair and then let out a sigh. "Oh, he knows. It is just his way of showing that he is… and that he knows that I know he is… and proving that I know that he knows that I know. That's all."

"Why don't you just talk to him?" The other guard asked.

"Might have something to do with the fact that he hates me or at least resents me and he should. If I were him I'd resent me too. Can't you tell by the way he says 'your highness' like it's an insult." Cailan said sadly.

"It isn't your fault." The guard said.

"What that I'm king and he is a… No, but it isn't his either. It's father's and he probably and justifiably hates him too. It wasn't fair, not to him or to me. I had a right to know I had a… I can't even say it out loud." Cailan said.

"Then you understand why your father couldn't say anything." The other guard said.

"I know but he could have done better by him. I should have done better by him." Cailan said.

"You tried to bring him to court."

"I know but he was training to be a templar and then he got recruited by the Grey Wardens before I could. Then the blight… obviously the Maker has other ideas. I just need... to keep him out of the fighting… in case…" Cailan's voice trailed off.

"In case of what?" The guard asked.

"Nothing… nothing."

7.3 Alistair

Alistair did his other allotted tasks ending with hunting down the two recruits to tell them that Duncan should be there tomorrow with the new recruit and then they could proceed with the joining. Ser Jory was writing a letter to his wife. Daveth would either be practicing his archery skills which were impressive if by his own admission a bit rusty or flirting with any female in camp. Thankfully he was practicing. After those being completed he sat down under a tree and went back over the letter.

Duncan had been short, quick with words and to the point. He was in a hurry, yes, but not so much or in what he considered any danger or he would not have taken the time to praise the new recruit. There was no cloaked call for help that he could see. Alistair felt sure something unexpected had happened to change Duncan's plans but he also felt sure that him and the recruit were fine and not in need of assistance. There was nothing he could do but wait.

His thoughts then turned to the new recruit, Kathryn, a woman, that would be... something. As it were, there were no women Grey Wardens. A few of the Grey Warden were married, of course, so there were women around the Grey Wardens but no women Grey Wardens.

He had seen pictures of a few, and while he had no idea what kind of wardens they had been, they didn't really look like anyone he wanted to meet. It wasn't that they were ugly, although he might be hard pressed to call them 'pretty', but it wasn't like that mattered. They just had a look about them, something harsh and unfriendly. Reminded him of the sisters at the monastery. Maybe they felt they had to be like that, look tough and mean, to be thought of seriously. Maybe being a warden was harder for women, but whatever the reasons, they didn't look nice.

He hoped that this Kathryn was… nice.

He doubted very much that it was the same Kathryn who was the Teyrn's daughter. But whoever she was, if Duncan saw something in her, was that impressed with her, he had no doubt she would make a fine Grey Warden. With the blight, they needed all the help they could get, but... it would be nice if she was… nice.

He hadn't really had time to make friends in the Grey Wardens, besides Duncan, of course. From recruitment to the joining and now the blight, most of it was a blur. He wanted to, and most of them had been friendly towards him. A few he was even starting to like. He was so used to being on his own, being on the outside, that he now found it difficult to make friends. He really didn't know how.

He wasn't expecting or even hoping for anything more from her. No, he had given up any hope of that long ago, when his fate had seemed sealed in the chantry. Templars could marry but it wasn't common, since they are not paid for their services. So any spouse has to make their own way in the world, have their own income, house, and provide for any children.

Some of the Grey Wardens were married, but not many. Most of those had been married before they took the joining. And since no women Grey Wardens, figured not really going to meet any. Not that it would do him any good if he did, he hardly knew how to make friends much less have any idea about women.

He just figured that he wouldn't have anything like that, and he was okay with that… really. Not that he didn't want that but, to be in love… was something he couldn't even imagine. To feel for someone what the bards sang of, what so many talked about. To respect and care about someone that much, to want to be with them always, to want to… lie with them… He knew about that, of course. The chantry figured if it was going to forbid something, at least till marriage, they had to at least tell you what it was you weren't supposed to do. He had thought about it, of course. He knew that there was a brothel in Denerim but had never really considered it. He didn't want to do that with just anyone. He did take it seriously and maybe it was better for him not to know what he was missing. Better to wait just in case it did happen. Just in case... there was someone out there he could respect and care about… that he could... love. But he doubted it. He remembered reading about Calenhad and how he had married the beautiful Mairyn and not the warrior Lady Shayna, and he never understood why for she was the one fighting by his side. The adults had just shook their heads. "One day you'll understand." They said, but he still didn't, and maybe he never would.

Anyway… he just hoped that she was nice… kind and generous… with a sense of humor, and... well, since we was hoping... at least not ugly... if that isn't asking too much.

But there was the blight to stop, and he had a duty and responsibility to protect a world where those things were possible... at least for other people.


	8. Chapter 8: Ostagar

8.1 Kathryn

Kathryn stood at the far side of the bridge to the king's camp. They had just arrived at Ostagar and she had met King Cailan. Duncan had said she could explore the camp and then when she was ready, they would proceed with the joining. He had said that Drake could stay with him. Drake had barked happily to let her know that was fine with him but had waited for her nod before following Duncan. She watched as they both walked out of her sight.

She was alone and she felt every bit of it. Winds, strong and cold, blew over the bride, whipping around her, seemingly blowing straight through her. She turned to face them. They blew her hair back, stinging her face, causing tears to form and fall streaking from her eyes.

She should be dead and that's exactly how she felt, numb and lifeless. Is that what happens when the pain is too much? She had heard of that with physical injuries. It wasn't so much a pain, at least not now. At first it had been like part of her being ripped out. Now she could feel it, the hole in the center of her being. She felt empty inside. Where there had been happiness and pleasure and love, there was just a dead calm. She couldn't feel anything or better yet that it hurt too much to try to feel anything, even joy. It was hard to even remember how it felt to be happy or excited or content or being able to laugh or even smile.

'The depth of joy you are capable of is only equaled by the amount of sorrow you can endure.' She had heard that somewhere and it had stuck with her but she hadn't understood it at the time. Maybe you pay for the happiness you feel in your life. Maybe it all balances out in the end, equal parts sorrow and joy, pain and pleasure, fear and love. Maybe then it was better not to feel anything. She wanted to believe that but couldn't. But to care again about anything, to risk the pain of its loss, was too difficult to even think about now, too hard to even imagine. Right now, all she could do was focus on her duty to the Grey Wardens, to Ferelden and her family. After that was done, perhaps then… but now the numbness allowed her to function, to go on and do what needed to be done. And that's all that mattered.

She needed to find Alistair, so that she could go through the joining and become a Grey Warden. He shouldn't be that hard to find. No doubt he was like Duncan, calm, polite, brave, sense of gravity about him, serious and dutiful, responsible and stalwart, taciturn, much as she figured most Grey Wardens were.

She walked across the bridge and spoke to the guard, asking about the fortress, the camp and the Grey Warden named Alistair. Father had always told her to talk and listen to everyone for nearly all have information of value or something to teach you. The guard told her that he thought Alistair had been sent with a message to the mages. She went to where the Circle of Magi was camped but no one besides the mages and the templars was there. She did meet a mage, an older woman named Wynne. She rather reminded her of her mother, the same calm demeanor with a similar spirit. She wandered around the rest of the camp, talking to people and learning much. She met the other recruits, Ser Jory from Highever, she thought about telling him what had happened but he would find out soon enough and she didn't want to talk about it, and Daveth, a harmless flirt with apparently a bit of a past from Denerim but he seemed nice enough.

Everything is always in the last place you look. She had been everywhere in camp but the old temple. She went up the ramp. Far to the left there was a table and a few servants milling about, to the right was another ramp. She went up it and saw man in mage robes talking to another man, a warrior from his build, armor and weapons, about her age, with short dark blond hair, rather handsome in an unassuming sort of way. By process of elimination, that had to be Alistair. She walked towards them.

8.2 Alistair and Kathryn

"Haven't the Grey Wardens already asked more than enough of the circle." The Mage said, clearly annoyed.

"I simply came to deliver a message, ser mage. The revered mother desires your presence." 'Alistair' said apologetically.

"What the revered mother desires is of no concern to me. I am helping the Grey Wardens by the king's orders, I might add." The mage seemed intent on taking whatever annoyance he felt at the request out on the messenger. There didn't seem to be an obvious reason why, the man who must be Alistair seemed polite enough…

"Should I have asked her to write a note?" 'Alistair' said with a mischievous grin and dripping with sarcasm. Okay, maybe not so much on the polite… Kathryn tried to suppress smile, and for one of the few times in her life, completely failed. She had always been taught to keep inappropriate laughter in check, to be polite and respectful, and keep her thoughts, feelings and at times reactions to herself, but the response had caught her off-guard and well, the way he said it… it was funny. She had to look away and bite her lip. Thankfully the mage wasn't paying her any attention.

"I will not be harassed in this manner." The mage said irate at this point.

"Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message." While 'Alistair' did have a point, the comment didn't help the situation nor her ability to keep a straight face.

"Your glibness does you no credit." The mage said. Well, she thought, she had to disagree with him there.

"And here I though getting on so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you. The grumpy one." Now, he is just annoying the mage. Not that he didn't deserve it, but it was improper and impolite and still very funny.

"Enough, I will speak to the woman, if I must. Get out of my way, fool!" He stormed off. 'Alistair' now turned to her. And to her great surprise he was actually better looking up close or maybe it was the glint in the eyes and the half cocked smile. She had control of herself again and with a straight face looked to him.

Alistair for his part was only dimly aware that someone had walked up during the conversion. But now that his business with the mage was thankfully done, he was able to turn his attention to them.

"You know one good thing about the blight is how it brings people together." He said to 'them' hoping they would get the humor. The 'them' turned out to be a 'her' and… Wow! She was simply beautiful, long dark hair, blue gray eyes like the sky before a storm.

Well, that didn't last long, she thought. She didn't even try to stop the smile or the slight laugh, to be able to see the humor in such a situation and make such a comment was… impressive.

And then she smiles, he thought… WOW! It felt like he had gotten hit square in the chest, all the air knocked out of his lungs. He'd seen pretty girls and even beautiful women before but… not like her.

"I know exactly what you mean." She said emphatically. And with a sense of humor too, at least she knows it's a joke and can appreciate it. That wasn't true for most people he had met.

"It's like a party. We could all get in a circle and hold hands. That would give darkspawn something to think about." The image caused her to smile even wider, had she really said something just recently about not being able to smile or laugh... Well, yes, but she wasn't expecting this!

No way he had ever seen her before, he would remember… unless… maybe she had a helmet on or he was… tired or had been struck temporarily blind or stupid or something… and if he had and then didn't remember… then she'd think… no, he'd remember her… but she's probably a mage, that'd be just his luck.

"Wait, we haven't met, have we? You don't happen to be another mage?" He asked hopeful.

"Would that make your day worse?" She asked lightly, meaning that she probably wasn't and they probably hadn't. Good.

"Hardly, I just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given moment." She smiled again, she couldn't help it. Even though it hurt to smile, to feel good or feel anything at all, like using a broken limb. But she couldn't stop or perhaps she could. She realized that she had a choice, to feel the pain and be able to laugh or be numb. But could she really give up being able to laugh like this, even with how much it hurt? No, she didn't think so.

Oh! he was so stupid, of course, he knew who this was. Especially since she walked up to him and the mage and didn't follow the mage when he left, meaning she was waiting to talk to him, and since not yelling at him, there was really only one other option...

"Wait, I do know who you are. You're Duncan's new recruit from Highever. I should have recognized you right away, I apologize." And would have if Duncan had mentioned that you were gorgeous. He thought. Now what was her name… oh, come on… he had read it a dozen times… think…

"No offensive taken." She said and none was.

"Good. You didn't exactly catch me at finest with the mage. Let me introduce myself. I'm Alistair, the new Grey Warden, but I guess you knew that." How could anyone be so unintentionally charming? She thought. She was so used to polished, practiced and refined charm. Lines used and perfected till they had lost all meaning. His simple and almost awkward sincerity was unexpected and… nice… really nice.

Really smooth there! Now she thinks you're an idiot or that you think she is an idiot, probably both. Fantastic! You see a beautiful woman and turn into an idiot, or more of an idiot than normal. Good to know. Change the subject.

"As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you as you prepare for the joining." He said.

"Good to meet you. My name's, Kathryn." She said.

"That was the name." Kathryn, of course, he knew that. Well, wouldn't forget that again, that's for sure. But… she did seem to have a sense of humor, and not easily offended. He wondered how she'd take a bit of teasing. She already thinks you're an idiot, may as well find out.

"You know it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is." Ooooh, she thought, so that's how it is, is it?

"I can handle myself better than most." She said with smile and confidence and a look that said 'just try me.' Wow!

"I'm getting that impression." He said with a big grin.

But other more important things to talk of and hopefully much more time for jokes and good natured teasing and… maybe… other stuff. She asked about the Grey Wardens; the joining, he couldn't tell her much but said as much as he could, Duncan, the battle, she asked good questions and then…

"Tell about yourself." She said. She was curious about him. He was different, so unlike what she was expecting.

"You first. Did you want to become a Grey Warden?" He asked. He wasn't used to talking about himself, not comfortable with it really. Never done it. Maybe if she went first, if she was willing to tell him about her, well… then knew she was interested… was actually interested and not just being polite.

"I asked you first." She said slightly taken aback, but not angry more playful.

"You asked in general. I'm asking in particular." Now there is nothing in the rules of life about a particular question taking precedence over a general one if asked after the general question, and he knew that. But he hoped that the haughty, overly confident way he said it wouldn't allow for argument.

She started to respond and then realized that she didn't have one. He didn't have a valid argument for going first, just a statement he had made up and said with confidence and authority. She could argue it, confront and challenge but it was such a good bluff and done so well, she… conceded. Fergus would be shocked, she knew, but she could give credit and admit when she'd been had. It just didn't happen often, and the fact that he had forced the concession…

"Yes, but not in the way the I did." She said, sadly and with a sigh. He had a feeling there was more to that story but didn't ask.

He explained that he had been training as a templar when Duncan had recruited him. He spoke very fondly of Duncan and thought that he had conscripted him in at least some small part to help him, since he didn't want to be a templar. While, she suspected that might have had something to do with it, she also didn't think Duncan would recruit anyone without the skills and talents needed. Somewhat reluctantly they started to make their way back to Duncan.

She liked him, not like that… not really… but he was rather handsome. But talking to him had been the first time she had felt at all like herself, felt alive again. The numbness was still there, the emptiness and pain but there had been laughter and a bit of joy to put back. It hurt in a way, but it was a good kind of hurt, it felt like something broken inside was healing.

She was more than he had hoped for. Smart with sense of humor, spirited but nice and simply beautiful… and built too. While they were talking, he had sneaked a peak… okay maybe two… or three and… wow! And now that she was walking in front of him… more wow! He had never really… noticed someone like that… had them affect him like that. But now was not the time, there was still the joining and she may not… no, he really didn't want to think about that. He definitely didn't want Duncan to know he was… he didn't even know what… really… and he especially didn't want her to know… whatever it was. Just stay calm. They had things to do, and he was supposed to watch and evaluate all the recruits. But he had to admit he hoped she did well, and he hoped… really hoped she made it.


	9. Chapter 9: The Wilds

9.1 Alistair

Alistair's part was to make sure that the recruits didn't accidentally stumble into the bulk of the hoard and to observe them in action. Duncan felt that they would act differently with Alistair than with him, be more themselves. Duncan wanted to see how they worked as group, demeanor in a fight, leadership, etc. He wanted them exposed to darkspawn before the battle and to know how they reacted to them. Then, of course, there were the treaties. Alistair also knew that Duncan… wasn't doing as well as he let on. Along with the call and the other mental aspects, there were physical symptoms too. He knew it was taking a toll on him. He did what he could, whatever he asked of him he would do.

He was just glad that he could now sense the darkspawn and go with the recruits to watch and keep them out of trouble. When you can sense them, that is when you are considered a 'real' Grey Warden. Although taking the joining, not passing it but just taking it was enough. They honored those that fell as Grey Wardens. Duncan had warned him not to get too close to the recruits, that it was best to not get to know them, not to spend time with them before the joining. He had noticed that was a rule most of the Grey Wardens followed. When he first came to the compound before his joining the rest of the Grey Wardens hardly spoke to him, barely acknowledged he was there. He thought perhaps it was something about him, wouldn't be the first time. But once he had passed his joining, they all had come up to him, introduced themselves, congratulated him and welcomed him with heartfelt words and warm smiles. And after watching one of the other recruits die right in front of him, he had understood.

First thing was who took charge. He figured it would be the knight but after a long moment, Kathryn just assumed control. She started walking to the gate and the other two followed. She didn't fight for it, didn't demand it. She just took it as almost her right with the confidence and authority of one expecting to be obeyed. Maybe she was a teyrn's daughter, he thought.

As they passed through the gate, it occurred to him that with two rogues he would have to take a more aggressive role than he normally had, which was fine with him. Sword and shield warriors never got any respect. All the warriors wanted to carry the big two handed weapons.

One reason was that just about any warrior can pick up the basics of sword and shield rather quickly. It isn't hard to figure out how to strike with the one and block with the other, which is why they give them to your average solider. Two handed weapons take more training, practice and talent to get the hang of, which is why normally only knights or very talented warriors get the time and training necessary to use them. But as one of his templar trainers had told him, once you do, it is a simple matter to advance. It just takes practice, a lot of it but it gets easier as you go. It is not such a simple thing to get really good at sword and shield. To master it takes not only time and practice but constant training, a talent for it and a lot of it and intelligence. It gets harder and harder to advance as you get better and better. But someone really good at sword and shield can defeat just about anyone, even a master of two handed.

The trainer had told Alistair that he had the talent to be good, really good, exceptional even. One of the few good things any of the trainers ever said to him. Mostly they just told him to stop fooling around but he had remembered that and started to take the training somewhat seriously and he had gotten better, a lot better.

But for the most part sword and shield were thought of defensively. The ones to hold the line while the two handed attacked and led the charge. This could be interesting.

9.2 The Test

After surviving a wolf attack right outside the gate, they found a scouting party that had been decimated by darkspawn. They found one surviving solider. Kathryn offered to take him back to camp but he said that he could make it back if they could bandage him up. He was glad to see that in addition to everything else, she was also kind.

Ser Jory started to panic, while both Daveth and Kathryn seemed fine. They all got Ser Jory calmed down. He hadn't expected the knight to panic, but just proved you can never know. Then just past the scouting party they ran into darkspawn. He was glad to see that despite Ser Jory being somewhat pale, he attacked the darkspawn without reservation. 'Courage is not acting without fear but in spite of fear.' Ser Jory didn't seem to lack any of that. As Alistair charged, he could hear the arrows whistle by him. One melee fighter got past them, he heard Kathryn call out. "Got this one. Go!" His reaction was instinctual. He could try to rationalize it, act like he was thinking it through, but it really came down to did he trust her or not. He kept going without looking back.

As they fought through the wilds, he was impressed with Ser Jory's skill, he could see that the darkspawn unnerved him but he trusted in his training and talents as a warrior and his nerves seemed to steady as they continued on. Daveth seemed very calm under pressure and under fire with impressive bow skills and handy with blade too. Both played their allotted roles well. Kathryn was... a marvel, doing whatever needed done, adjusting and adapting to the situation. At long range her aim was not as precise as Daveth's but sure. She was more comfortable with her daggers. She fought in the thick of the action, along side him, not like many rogues who stayed on the edges of the battle. She concentrated on those not focused on her, attacking from the back and side. More and more he would look over an opponent's shoulder to see her behind them. He began to see that the more the enemies focused on him, the more effective she was, they both were, in fact. He would make his assessment of the enemies, plan his attack and then execute. Whatever it was, he didn't have to tell her but somehow she seemed to understand intuitively. His strikes became easier, more accurate, deadlier. But he had to watch out for her, had to take the brunt of the damage, keep them off her, let them concentrate on him. She was more vulnerable to a direct attack, and if an opponent with heavier armor targeted her, she was in trouble. But this arrangement they seemed to be developing, had possibilities and it was actually rather… fun.

She watched him, easy to do with a bow. He didn't fight like any of the soldiers who carried swords and shields she had ever seen. His shield was as much a weapon as his sword. She watched who he focused on, how he saw the battle and sized up the threats. She started to see how their different talents and skills could fit together, work together and be more effective. Specifically, how she could cripple and impair, distract his opponents, make his strikes better. They both began to adjust to the other without even a word. He could protect her from heavier armored and she could save him from being overwhelmed by numbers. It was like dancing, working out the steps, your moves as well as those of your partner. She was starting to like the idea.

As they walked on, Kathryn got hit with a magic blast. "What?!" she said.

"Emissary!" Alistair yelled. He knew all about them. They normally only appeared during a blight. Once he had passed his joining, he had been given all the information they had on them. With his templar training, he was to be the expert. Dangerous, powerful and smarter than normal darkspawn. He started to run towards it.

"What?" She cried after him.

"Darkspawn mage!" He said.

"Daveth, pin it!" She yelled.

"On it!" Daveth took aim and arrow went straight through its lower leg, stopping it in its tracks. Alistair could see a couple genlocks to his side but kept going. Just as he got to the bridge the emissary worked free and turned and ran. There were more darkspawn on the other side. Arrows flew, as they got off the bridge Ser Jory got caught in a leg trap.

Alistair kept going despite realizing that he was completely cut off from the rest. The emissary turned and cast, Alistair couldn't get to him in time and the fireball went by him. He took the next shot from the staff and then bashed him to the ground, but he could feel the two behind him. He struck the emissary and felt the hits on his flank. "Come on, where are you Kathryn?"

She saw him run past the genlocks and over the bridge. There were more darkspawn on the other side. She ran after him and then she saw the fireball. She jumped back. When the flames cleared, she could see Jory had been hit but was still standing. "Jory! Archer!" He nodded weakly. "Daveth! Keep on the emissary!"

"What? Oh, right!" Daveth started firing. Then she started to run, across the bridge she could see the traps and carefully ran through. 'Hold on.' She thought. 'I'm coming.'

Alistair hit it again. If he let up, it could cast another fireball. An arrow whistled past his head and struck the emissary, not much damage but it got its attention. Then he felt the darkspawn behind him disappear. He struck with his shield, one more bash and then a follow up thrust and he ran it through. He used the shield to dislodge it from the sword. He turned. She was standing behind him, fighting another hurlock who immediately turned its attention to Alistair. She ducked down and let it go past her. It struck out at him, Alistair blocked the blow as she spun and buried both daggers into its back. With a quick nod, he let her know he was fine. Then nearly at once they ran back to where Ser Jory and Daveth were fighting. Within moments the rest of the darkspawn were dead.

From there they could see the remains of the tower. As they approached the archers started firing. Alistair and Ser Jory started to attack. "Wait." She called. She could see the archers on either side and more melee in the middle, if they charged they would be attacked from three sides. Here the archers didn't have a good line of sight. The two warriors stopped. "Daveth, focus on melee. Draw them out." They started firing. The melee fighters attacked.

Alistair and Ser Jory looked at each other as they approached. When they were nearly in striking distance, Alistair said "Go." He hit the first one, while Ser Jory stepped up and struck the second. Kathryn watched as the warriors attacked and thanked the Maker they had enough sense to attack. Daveth and her were now focused on the other archers and then she saw the… whatever it was. It had heavier armor than any of the others and was heading for them.

Kathryn pulled out her daggers. "Keep hitting it till within melee range and then run."

Daveth took aim and answered "Don't have to tell me twice." Alistair saw the alpha and saw that it was heading for the two rogues. He pushed the hurlock back and ran after the alpha. It took at swing at Kathryn as she tried to get a strike in, but the armor was too heavy her blade glanced off and she was hit and knocked back.

Alistair charged it, interrupting its follow up strike and knocking it down. It then turned to him, she got back up and hit it quick, from the back and sides she could see and exploit the weakness in the armor. He blocked the next blow and then lashed out with a strike from the shield and two from sword. It fell. As they stood over the body he couldn't help but say "I think we work well together." And she smiled.

They quickly dispatched the remaining archers. They entered the fallen tower. In the middle there was a broken chest, Kathryn went to examine it.


	10. Chapter 10: The Battle

10.1 The Joining

Well, getting the treaties had been… interesting. Alistair thought. They hadn't been in the chest but in the possession of a resident of the wilds. Daveth, who had faced the darkspawn without flinching suddenly got nervous around what he thought was a 'witch of the wilds'. Whether she was or not, didn't matter, they had the treaties and the blood, now there was the joining.

He led all three of them to the old temple, while Duncan collected what they needed for the ritual. He was nervous. He tried not to be. He hoped, truly hoped, that they all made it… but he really wanted Kathryn to survive. And the way his luck usually ran that meant that she probably… but maybe not. Things had been turning around for him. He had gotten recruited, survived his own joining, so maybe… he could at least hope.

He wanted to say something to her. He really didn't know what. He tried to think about what would have made him feel better before his joining. He had been terrified, not of dying, templar training works that out of you, or maybe you just figure dying would be better. But he had been terrified of failing, of disappointing Duncan. He had risked so much to help him and then for it all to be for nothing… and he thought that a very real possibility. He couldn't imagine the Maker being happy that he didn't want to be a templar. No doubt if it was up to the Grand Cleric he wouldn't even get to take the joining but get hit by lighting on the spot. Although that would be a mercy, getting struck by lighting would be better than failing the joining. The recruit before him… didn't make it. After he fell, Alistair didn't even wait for Duncan to call his name but stepped forward and took the cup. Better to get it over with, and at least if he did die he wanted to do it with some courage.

It was like what he imagined swallowing fire or acid would be like, but worse for that would only burn your mouth and throat. The joining burns through your whole body from the inside out and then when you don't think you can stand much more pain, you pass out. At least, the ones who survive pass out. It seems the body reacts by shutting down till it can somehow deal with the poison. The ones that don't, die. But he also figured out that it is the joining that kills them. The taint by itself kills but slowly. The joining is a mercy. If your body proves it can't take it, it kills you.

He didn't know what to say but as it turned out it didn't matter. She had left them (to check on a dog, it seemed?) and arrived too late. He didn't have a chance to say anything. Even good luck, not that luck had anything to do with it.

At Duncan's request, he said the words and then Daveth took the cup and died before them. Ser Jory panicked and pulled a sword on Duncan and bled to death on the stone. Duncan turned to Kathryn and she took the cup. He watched as she drank and then he could see the pain and then her body went limp. He wasn't about to let her fall to the stone and stepped forward and caught her. Duncan had also stepped forward but he had been faster. He saw the look in Duncan's eyes but didn't know what it meant. As gently as he could, he laid her back upon the ground. Duncan knelt down beside her. Alistair stood watching. They waited. It wouldn't be long.

10.2 Duncan

Duncan watched as Kathryn took the cup with reservation but not fear. He had seen so many that he could tell almost immediately who was going to live and who was going to die. And she… was going to make it. Her body went limp. He stepped forward to catch her. But to his surprise Alistair got to her first. He watched as he gently laid her on the stone.

Obviously more had happened in the wilds than collecting blood and retrieving treaties, he thought. He had noticed that she had looked better since she had found Alistair. She had looked alive again. The light and fire he had seen in her eyes the first time they had met, had returned. He had been worried that she might lose that spirit with what had happened. He had thought that her and Alistair may make good partners and perhaps he had been more right than he had suspected, but he wanted to watch the situation. They were both vulnerable and if it went badly the damage might be irreparable, but then again if it went well…

She began to stir and then opened her eyes. He welcomed her to the Grey Wardens and then asked her to join him in a meeting with the king. he knew that there should be more but time was slipping by. Both he and Alistair turned to walk away. He thought to say something to Alistair, but decided against it. Now was not the time.

10.3 Alistair

Alistair walked through the camp and back to Duncan's fire. He hated that Daveth and Ser Jory had not made it, but he was glad, that at least, Kathryn had survived. Now it was alright for him to… like her, and to hope for more conversations and more teasing and even more… flirting? Wait, was that flirting? Had she actually been flirting… with him? Boy, he hoped so… he really hoped so… because if she was… but he couldn't think about that right now.

He also hoped that Duncan would forget about him giving his observations on the recruits. With two of them… gone, it didn't matter so much and he didn't want to accidentally gush about her. If he talked too well of her, Duncan might think that he… not that he didn't... but if Duncan knew that, he might not want them to fight together. Somehow, he had to figure out how to mention about how well they had worked together in the wilds, because they really had, without being obvious about it.

As he passed by two knights, he overheard something about Highever and slowed down to listen acting like he was adjusting his boot. From what he could gather it seemed that the entire Cousland family including the Teyrn and the rest of the household, had been murdered. That the only survivor of the massacre was the daughter who had been recruited into the Grey Wardens. Dear Maker! She WAS the teyrn's daughter!

He could barely imagine having a family much less losing them like that. She must be incredibly strong to be able to continue on like she is, to be able to focus on the blight and not blindly seek revenge on whoever was responsible.

But that also meant that she was a noble and he was a bastard and while that wasn't supposed to matter to Grey Wardens, it wasn't supposed to matter to templars either, but it had. Add to that, the only thing he knew about women was that he didn't know anything at all. And now that she was a Grey Warden, she would be introduced to the rest of them and as soon as they got a look at her, saw that smile and got a taste of her spirit and sense of humor, they would all want to be 'friends' with her, if not more. She would have her pick of anyone she wanted... why would she want... but he shouldn't be thinking about these things now. He should be getting himself ready to participate in the battle.

10.4 Duncan

"What? I won't be in the battle!" Alistair said. Duncan could see his disappointment. But the king had asked that Alistair, specifically, be sent to light the beacon. He tried to frame it as an important mission, key to the success of the battle, but he knew that Alistair was being kept out of the battle because if something happened to Cailan, he was next in line to the throne. Cailan insisted on fighting on the front line. Perhaps, as many, himself included, thought he wanted to be the hero, but he was beginning to wonder.

Cailan planning for the possibility that he could die in this battle, was so uncharacteristic of the overly, if not reckless, confidence he had displayed up until this point, that it had caused Duncan to reconsider his opinion of Cailan. Perhaps he wasn't a child playing the part of king, and overdoing it, maybe he understood his role and responsibilities but simply didn't know how to fulfill them. Even five years into his reign, he seemed so ill-prepared for this role, lacking the talent and skills Duncan had seen in Maric. Duncan had known Maric, considered him a friend, but he had meet him as a man and a king. Those skills Maric had learned through the fires of war. Unfortunately, they were not things Maric had taught or perhaps knew how to teach Cailan. He hoped that Cailan would learn in a similar fashion thought the trials of the blight. He just hoped he learned quickly.

Kathryn was also disappointed, for her to have gone through all she had to get here and then to be sent on what amounted to an errand was seemingly unfair. But Duncan had little choice. She was the more junior member and if Alistair was sent to light the beacon and she participated in the battle, it would raise many questions that no one wanted to answer.

"Alright, alright. I get it. But just so you know if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line! Darkspawn or no." Alistair said.

"You know I think I'd like to see that." Kathryn said with a smile.

"For you, maybe, but it has to be a pretty dress." Alistair said.

Duncan groaned. He should be used to Alistair's humor, inappropriate as it was. It wasn't like he needed any further evidence of his indomitable spirit or Kathryn's resilience or the fact that there was an obvious attraction between the two. In a way he was glad they were out of the battle, he wanted them to survive, to outlive this blight as he knew and even hoped that he wouldn't but he had to admit that he would have felt better with them on the field with him.

"You are both Grey Wardens, I expect you to be worthy of that title." Not that he had any worries about them, but they were young and not happy about their allotted roles. He didn't need them trying to be a hero.

"Duncan, may the Maker watch over you." Alistair said quietly.

"May he watch over us all." Duncan said. He wanted to say something else, but there was nothing he could say, nothing to say. He turned and walked to the battlefield.

Duncan knelt by the crushed and lifeless body of the king, knowing neither would ever stand again. He looked around and saw one after another of the Grey Wardens fall, till he was the only one left. The Grey Wardens, the king, the entire army, had fallen to the darkspawn and so would the entire country. But perhaps there was still hope. With the last bit of his strength, he looked to the beacon, to see it blazing against the night sky. They were still alive. Could they do it? Defeat the blight alone? Would they be enough? Maker, watch over them. He saw the darkspawn rush towards him.

10.5 Alistair

Alistair remembered his first night at the monastery, laying for the first time in the bed he would sleep in for the next ten years, staring up at the cracks in the stone. They had arrived late, after everyone was already in bed. The brother that answered the door had obviously been awakened from a deep sleep and wanted nothing more to get back to it. He didn't ask his name but led Alistair to this bed and told him to go to sleep. He laid there starting at the ceiling shedding tears not of sadness or fear but of rage. He was simply too exhausted from the trip and trying to runaway to scream. They had dragged him back to the carriage, time and time again, him screaming each time to be let go. What did it matter to them? "You'll thank us for this one day." That day had yet to come, he thought. He laid there, not knowing a soul in the building in the entire city, only a brother who no doubt barely remembered him and probably thought the whole thing had been a bad dream. For Alistair it was. He reached for his amulet, his mother's amulet but it wasn't there. He had been so angry, he had thrown it at the wall and it had shattered. Now when he died and went to the side of the Maker, his mother wouldn't be able to find him. He was alone, completely alone. It was the most alone he had ever felt… until now.

He stood at the edge of the water looking out into nothing. He remembered the tower, the beacon and how it had been overrun by darkspawn. That should have tipped him off that something was wrong, but he wasn't able to think through the implications. Not that it would have mattered, even if he had realised what was going on. There was nothing he could have done to stop it... to save them, it was already too late.

They had fought their way to the top and there was an ogre. The mage that had come with them hit it several times before he was rammed. Then the ogre turned its attention to him. He had hit it several times till he got rammed and knocked down. Kathryn had distracted it till he had been able to get up and she had gotten grabbed up for her trouble. The ogre hit her. He had to free her somehow. There was no way she could take any more of those. He bashed it hard and it let her go. She fell to the ground. It turned to him and rammed him backwards. He got up and bashed it again, spinning it and stunning it. He fell to a knee. He saw Kathryn get to her feet and look up. "Now! Go for the head!" he yelled. Without the slightest hesitation she broke into a run and jumped on the ogre, hitting it square in the chest and knocking it back to the ground. She drove her dagger into its forehead. It jerked and then was still.

They lit the beacon just before a group of darkspawn attacked them. He saw Kathryn fall hard, hit by many arrows at once, blood pouring out of her. He fought to get to her but he was soon overwhelmed and then everything went black.

He had woken up to find Morrigan's mother watching him. "What…What's…?"

"Easy, young man. You had quite the ordeal. But you are safe now." She said. He could feel the magic running through him. Templar training made him suspect any magic of being harmful or even blood magic but he could tell that this was just normal healing, normal but very powerful. He looked around he was back at the hut they had visited to retrieve the treaties.

"What am I doing here?" He asked.

"Healing from your wounds, which were severe I might add." She said.

"How... did I get here?" He asked.

"I brought you... from the tower." She said.

"The tower… darkspawn overwhelmed…us…" He suddenly looked up to her. "Kathryn?" He said not really expecting an answer he wanted to hear.

"The girl? Yes, she is here too. She is still resting but she will be fine, as will you." She said. "I cannot say the same for the rest of your order."

"What… what do you mean?" Alistair said alarmed.

"You lit the beacon, but there was no charge. The army retreated instead. The darkspawn overwhelmed the field, slaughtering all there. The king and all of the other Grey Wardens, they are all dead." She said simply.

"No, they can't be. The Teyrn wouldn't just abandoned them. It isn't possible." He said in disbelief.

"I assure you it is. They all perished." She said.

"You don't know that… can't know that for sure." He said grasping.

"I do. All that are left of your order are you and the girl." She said as a simple truth.

"Duncan?" He nearly whispered.

"I do not know the name but if he was on the field, he is now dead." She said.

"He can't be!" Grief and anger boiled up and threatened to overwhelm him.

"And why would I lie?" She asked without anger.

He looked at her. "There must be some… some who survived." He said desperately.

"Very few and long gone but no Grey Wardens." She answered.

"No, it's not possible… that they… are… all… gone." He sat back and put his head in his hands.

She got up and said "Your things are there in the chest. When you are able get dressed and come to the fire. We have much to discuss when the girl awakens." She then turned to go.

"She won't." He said, voice unsteady.

She looked at him eyes slightly wide. "You doubt me after all I have done."

He looked up to her. "I saw her fall… saw the blood. She couldn't survive that." He put his head back in his hands. She left him.

Now, he continued to stare over the water and into nothing. All dead, all of them. Just gone. No good-bye's, no pyres, no words, no nothing, just... gone. He knew any of them could die in battle but… all of them? And Duncan too… at least he had died fighting the blight, but not like this… betrayed… murdered… just left to die. Why? Not that it mattered, not that he cared, nothing could justify this. Leaving them and the rest of the army to be massacred by darkspawn. The grief was a deep blackness that permeated every inch of him, swallowing all the light. And along with the grief, there was now a quiet rage building. He would pay for this. By the Maker! He would pay.

But... the blight… there was still the blight and now he had to try to defeat it alone. He would try… he would have to. The weight of it… the intense responsibility engulfed him… he felt like he was drowning in it… he didn't know what to do or where to go… there was no one for him to even talk to… he was alone… he was completely…

"See, here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man." Morrigan's mother said. He turned from the water to see Kathryn walk out of the hut. She was fine, looked… fine. He wasn't alone. The blackness had held him lost a bit of its grip and he saw one small light, a tiny bit of hope and he grabbed it and held onto it with all he had. He wasn't alone.

10.6 Kathryn

She had woken and found out from Morrigan that the Teyrn had retreated leaving all on the battlefield to die. The king, the Grey Wardens all were dead. Somehow she wasn't even surprised by it all. Maybe given all she had been through, nothing about the evil of men surprised her anymore. Or perhaps she had been expecting something like this. Well, not this, no one could have ever suspected the teyrn of this, but something. She had been at that meeting, something wasn't right... and the darkspawn being in the tower... but there had been the beacon and even if she had realized what was happening, she couldn't have stopped it.

Apparently Morrigan's mother had saved them. Although she wasn't sure why. Perhaps as Morrigan said they were the only ones she could reach being on the tower and not on the battlefield, but still… She got up and slowly got dressed. She wanted to check on Alistair. He couldn't be taking this well.

She opened the door to the hut and walked outside. The light hurt her eyes for a moment then her vision adjusted. She saw Alistair at the edge of the water. She could tell he was not doing good, stunned and hurting. No doubt she looked much the same after the attack on the castle, the pain, shock and grief running through him. But at least there were two of them.

They talked, sorted through their options and resources. The Arl of Redcliffe, Alistair knew him. It was a place to start, and then there were the treaties. Could they really do this, gather an army and defeat the blight? They could try. But it wasn't like they had a choice, if they didn't, there wasn't anyone else who could.

Flemeth, for that was what she said to call her, offered up Morrigan. Alistair clearly didn't like her but they needed a guide and, in truth, all the help they could get. She hoped this didn't turn into a bad idea.

Morrigan lead them through the wilds and past the hoard toward a small village called Lothering. Alistair hadn't said three words since leaving the hut. She remembered Duncan saying how each person had to find their own way through. He seemed to have lost a part of himself. She could understand, but she hoped he could find it again. They hadn't had time to get close, barely knew each other really. She wasn't sure what to do but give him some time. He didn't even get to say good-bye, she thought. At least, she thought I got to say good-bye.


	11. Chapter 11: Morning

11.1 Leliana

Leliana stepped out of the chantry and into the garden. She needed some air. During the night she had experienced a terrible nightmare, like nothing she had ever had before. She had awoken in a panic, bathed in a cold sweat. As the dawn light grew, she forced herself to dress and then made her way to the garden. She went to the garden every morning, to tend the plants and to be filled with the light and beauty of the Maker's world, but today she knew she would find no such solace. A terror had settled in to the core of her being like a deep chill no amount of light or warmth could touch.

All she could think was how all this would be destroyed by the Blight. That everything she saw would soon be desolate and lifeless, diseased and corrupted. Death or worse awaited them all, and nothing could be done. It was too much to bear. How could the Maker allow such a thing? How could this be the Maker's will? He loved his children and she knew in her heart this to be so, but then how could he allow such suffering to his people and such destruction of this world?

She had tended to all those as best she could, the refugees and survivors of the battle. She could do little but listen and offer comfort, but to so many none was to be had. She heard their stories, of monsters, powerful, unrelenting, unstoppable, tearing though villages and people, without mercy, destroying all, even poisoning the very earth itself. 'What could stand against such a force? Why has the Maker abandoned us?" they had asked "What hope can there be?" She had no answer.

She looked out over the garden, most had been harvested, collected and given to those in need, gathered to be taken away. What remained were the plants and trees. They were doomed but they didn't know it. Despair, heavy and thick enveloped her, the very air seemed full of it. She wanted to cry but knew it would not help. It would not make her feel any better, nothing would.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the rose bush in the corner of the garden. At least it had escaped the Blight, it was dead. It seemed there was something on it. A bird, perhaps, had become caught in its gnarled thorny vines. She would try to free it. A bird had a chance to escape, at least for a while. She would not leave it trapped to watch its own death and the destruction of its home.

But as he approached she realized, it was not a bird but a... rose. A perfect, beautiful, fully-bloomed rose, growing from the bush. She stared in amazement and felt herself being filled with hope. If this, this beauty, could come from such death and decay, then perhaps there was hope even in this darkest of situations. If this could happen, then did that show that you could no longer assume that any situation was truly hopeless?

She had allowed herself to succumb to despair. She had failed the Maker by not trusting in him. She had not kept faith in him and believed. She would not make such a mistake again. She knelt down in prayer. Thanking the Maker for this sign, for restoring her faith, for all of the Maker's blessings. She stood and looked over the garden, she was no longer afraid. There was hope, there was always hope. She turned to leave, knowing she would never return.

She thought to take the rose with her, as a reminder of the Maker's love, but... no. It had served its purpose, it had restored her faith. In a sense she would always carry that rose with her. She would leave it for another to find. Perhaps it would mean something to someone else, restore their faith or give them some measure of solace or comfort. Perhaps the Maker had another purpose for it to fulfill.

She must go to the tavern. Many there still needed help and she must do what she could, but she thought there must be more she could do. She had... skills. Skills that could be useful in fighting darkspawn and defeating a Blight, no? But she would trust in the Maker to show her the path he wished for her to walk. She would wait and watch for some sign, some indication of what she was to do. It would come. She was sure of it in fact.

11.2 Ser Gilmore

Ser Gilmore took up his position by the wall. He was watching the refugees pouring into Lothering, hoping for… he didn't know what. A sign or a something, some indication or idea of what he should do now. He prayed and waited. He had been here for several days now, not sure what he was looking for, what to do, where to go. He tried to think, but it was difficult to sort through all that had happened. At times he didn't even remember where he was or why he was here, who or what he was looking for…

After leaving the castle he had escaped into the nearby woods, and that's when the pain in his head started, or at least when he began to notice it. A dull ache that grew in severity till it was nearly blinding. He became nauseous and dizzy, his vision was blurry, every sound seemed to echo in his head. He wandered in the woods most of the night till he finally collapsed. When he woke it was day. The light was like daggers through his head. He didn't remember where he was or why he was there. He finally found his way out of the woods and to a small village. He tried to talk to a woman but his speech was slurred to the point she couldn't understand him. Then he felt someone, two someones grab him. One on each arm and forcibly but gently escort him into a building and then a small, dark room and lay him on a bed. Liquids were put to his lips and he drank them. He felt the cold water wiping away the blood, both his and others. He slept.

When he awoke, he was in his small clothes and his head was bandaged. A woman in a chantry robe opened the door. She had a small candle with her and a basket with potions and bandages. She shut the door behind her. "How's the headache?"

"Better." he said.

"Must be, you aren't slurring your words anymore. That or you've sobered up." He realized that he was nearly naked and reached for the blanket. "Oh, don't bother. I raised four sons to adulthood, had two husbands and have tended to more soldiers than I care to count. Nothing I haven't seen before, trust me."

She knelt down next to the bed. She took the candle and looked into his eyes. Satisfied, she took out a potion and gave it to him. He drank it. She examined his head, removing the bandage. "Not much more I can do for that. It will leave a mark but the swelling should be gone in a few days." He nodded.

"Do you remember what happened to you?" He had to think. It was like looking back through a fog. There were bits and pieces. He started to shake his head and then he remembered… the castle had been attacked… Howe's men… the gate failing… the fire pit… He looked up to the woman. "At least you remember. You escaped the castle, no?" He nodded. "We thought as much. You are safe here. But Howe's men came by looking for you. Not you specifically, no description just anyone badly injured. So they could 'help' them. You're lucky the templars brought you to me."

"I have to get to Ostagar." He said.

She nodded. "It will be dawn soon. You'll eat and I'll pack you some supplies for the trip. You'll need money too. I'll look in the donation box. Your armor is in the corner. Can you manage?"

"Yes." He said. She got up and started to walk out of the room. "The revered mother doesn't know I'm here." He said quietly.

She stopped and turned back to him, with a smile she said. "No, she doesn't, so try not to make too much noise. She is a bit hard of hearing but just a bit."

"Why help me?" He asked.

She smiled. "When they brought you here, you were praying. Thanking the Maker that 'they' had escaped and praying that 'she' was safe. In the state you were in, a lesser man would have been praying for himself. You deserve more than my help but it is all I can offer. That and my own hope and prayers that the Maker watch over you, and guide to whatever fate he has for you."

The journey had been difficult. He still suffered painful headaches. The harsh daylight nearly blinded him, while bouts of dizziness came and went. Then he would forget where he was going or why for hours at a time. He had arrived in Lothering about the same time as the first reports of the disaster at Ostagar.

The army destroyed. The king dead. The Grey Wardens blamed and all of them dead too. His plan had always been to find Kathryn or if not her, Fergus and then the Grey Wardens. But they were all gone. It was almost too much to bear for her to have escaped the castle just to die in the battle. The grief at times had been overwhelming. He hadn't realized how much the fact that she had survived had driven him, had given him something to hold on to. Now, he was lost. He had listened, gathering as much information as he could, trying to understand and trying to figure out what he should do, where he should go. While he was getting better, he was still having trouble concentrating, making a decision seemed just beyond him. At times he would think he had decided on a course of action but couldn't remember what it was. He went from a near blind fury to crippling depression to nerve-wracking anxiety and back. And now he simply waited and prayed.

His faith had always been important to him and now he held to it. He prayed, hoping for a sign. "If the Maker wills, join us." Duncan had said. He had survived and there must be a reason, there had to be… he just had to be ready for it. "If the Maker wills…" He bowed his head and began to pray.

11.3 Kathryn

This is just getting better and better, she thought. She had just told some bandits taking 'tolls' on the highway to Lothering to leave and leave quickly. But they had told her that the Teyrn was blaming the Grey Wardens for the disaster at Ostagar and that there was now a bounty on their heads. Just add it to the list of problems they had.

Then as they descended the ramp into the village itself, she discovered that she could also add to that list the fact that Alistair and Morrigan didn't get along. And it wasn't just a personality conflict or the fact that she was an apostate and he a former templar but true deep dislike seemingly stemming from the fact that she thought he was stupid, which he wasn't, and he thought she was mean, which she was. Perhaps she should not expect someone raised in a swamp to be able to interact with people or know when to be quiet, and anyone who said they would laugh at the death of anyone, much less their mother, was not someone she wanted around. She was tempted to thank her for getting them out of the wilds and allow her to go back to the wilds where both Morrigan and Alistair wanted her to be. But Father had also told her that even people you don't like can be useful and to not make decisions you cannot easily take back without a great deal of thought. The simple fact was that they did need all the help they could get.

Alistair wanted to talk about where they intended to go. As they went over their options, she realized that while he was given her information and choices and even a suggestion or two, he wasn't stating an opinion or making any kind of decision himself. While he had been a junior member of the order and a Grey Warden for only a few months, now he was the most senior Grey Warden in Ferelden. She had only been a Grey Warden for a time that could easily be marked in days.

"Why are you leaving it up to me?" She asked him.

"Well, I don't know where we should go. I'll do whatever you decide." He said flustered.

"Now that is unsurprising." Morrigan chimed in, although no one asked her.

"Arl Eamon is a good man, but I don't know for sure it's where we should go. I'm not going to fight about it." Alistair said.

He can't do it. She realized, can't make the decisions, take control, take command, not now. He isn't able, she thought. I'm not sure I could have the day after the attack. But it was more than that. He had been trained as a templar, to do what he was told, to obey without question. In fact, he wasn't even a templar but an initiate before being recruited which meant that he couldn't be over twenty-one years old. He was younger than she was, not by much perhaps but significantly. She was not the same person two years ago that she was now. Father was going to leave her in charge of the castle and of Highever. He wouldn't have done that two years ago. One day, no doubt, he could step into this role or any other of leadership or responsibility, but not now. He isn't ready. But she was raised her entire life to be a teyrn, trained to rule, to command, to make decisions that affected all, and to lead.

"Our family has always done our duty first." She heard her father say. "The blight must be defeated. You must go, for your own sake as well as Ferelden's… She will live and make her mark on the world…You do us proud."

"I will, Father, for you." She had said. She looked away and closed her eyes.

There had been that numbness that had allowed her to function after the attack, but maybe that wasn't exactly what that had been. At first perhaps, but now had it turned into an ability to ignore those emotions, an ability to set them aside and think and act outside of personal feelings. Maybe it was… maturity. In that calm, that dead calm, in the center of her being there was clarity, an ability to take all into account, to feel and think at the same time. She had seen that calm, that steadiness in her father, earned through experience, and suffering. Her emotions were still there but tempered, and there was focus… an ability to focus on her duty to the Grey Wardens, to Ferelden, to her family, and to herself.

I can do this, she thought but more importantly, she felt it, she believed it. She began to nod her head and when she looked back to Alistair everything had changed.

"Then we need to find these people." She said.


	12. Chapter 12: Lothering

12.1 Roland and Kathryn

They walked into the village. It was packed with refugees. They needed supplies and most likely there was a bit of coin to be made here. With a bounty on their heads they couldn't expect any money they didn't earn themselves and they would need as much as they could get. She still had what had been in the castle's treasury but it wouldn't be enough.

As they walked towards the chantry board, Drake suddenly stopped, cocked his head to the side and sniffed the air a couple times. He then barked at her. Kathryn turned to him. He barked again making sure he had her attention and then started trotting over to the far end of the chanty's courtyard wall. She followed him and saw that the object of his interest was a man in armor sitting with his head bowed. Drake stood in front of the man and barked. The man looked up. Kathryn stopped, then she began to run.

Roland prayed "Dear Maker, I know that I was spared for a reason. That you have a plan and purpose for me to fulfill. Please show me what it is that I am supposed to do, where it is that I am supposed to go. I want only to help, to defeat the blight and revenge those killed without mercy or reason. Please, dear Maker, I only ask to be shown what it is that I am supposed to…"

He heard a bark, loud and close. He raised his head to see a mabari standing in front of him, looking at him curiously. The dog barked again, but it didn't seem angry, in fact, it was a friendly, happy sort of bark. He looked closely. "Drake?" he asked, but no, that wasn't possible. The dog barked that happy bark again.

Then he heard "Roland!" It sounded familiar, it sounded like... but that couldn't be... could it? He looked to where the voice came from. By the great grace of the Maker! It was Kathryn! He stood using the wall to steady him. She ran up to him. There was only a moment's hesitation before she decided to ignore all codes of noble conduct and decorum and threw her arms around him, hugging him hard. When she finally let him go, he could see the relief in her eyes and the joy in her smile.

"Kath… My lady… I…" He had no words to express what he felt, and was so emotional he was afraid to say more lest he embarrass himself.

"Oh, dear Maker… I am so… happy to see you… I thought…" She said. Then her expression changed to one of concern. "Are you alright?" She asked.

"I… have… been better... am better now." He said with effort. "…and I will heal."

"Did anyone… else…" She asked.

"No… they didn't… I'm sorry." He said. She winced and looked away for a moment, but then turned back to him, and smiled. He said. "I was afraid that with the battle, you had…"

"No, we were lucky." She said.

"We? Fergus? You found Fergus?" He asked.

"No, he was gone before I got to Ostagar. He was not in the battle, so perhaps, but… I have no idea where he may be." She said.

"Duncan?" He asked.

"As far as we know, he… didn't survive the battle." She said. Roland nodded sadly.

"I was afraid when I saw the Teyrnia that perhaps he hadn't made it out." He said.

"No, she… stayed with Father. Duncan helped me escape. And… I became a Grey Warden." She said.

He smiled widely. "I knew he would want to recruit you. He'd have been a fool not to. Then it seems we both were recruited, as I had hop…" He said and then stopped.

"Recruited? I don't…" She asked.

"We fought together briefly during the attack and before he left to find you, he offered me a place with the Grey Wardens. I had... have every intention of accepting and doing all I can to stop the blight and see that Howe pays. If you will only permit me to come with you. I have not fully recovered from the injuries I sustained in the attack but I will soon and I admit there is no place I would rather be than fighting at your side." He said with warmth.

"Yes, of course, please. There is no way I would allow you do to anything else but join us, as long as you are able… and there is nothing that would make me… but there is one condition." She said.

He looked curiously, "And that would be?"

"That you never call me 'my lady' again. It's just 'Kathryn' like before." She said.

"As long as you never call me 'Ser Gilmore' again, we have a deal." He said.

12.2 Alistair

Alistair had seen the dog's actions and when he ran to the wall where a man was sitting, he had the fleeting thought that it might be Duncan. But the red hair quickly dispelled that idea. He thought that it might be Fergus Cousland, who he had never seen nor heard described, but then he heard Kathryn call out what he thought was a name. At least the man reacted as if it was. He stayed back, not wanting to interrupt their reunion but close enough to overhear.

Kathryn was obviously happy to see him, overjoyed really. For 'Roland's' part, he seemed very fond of her too. It seemed that he was at the castle when it was attacked and had somehow escaped. He asked of Duncan, then it occurred to him that he must have been the recruit the Teyrn had invited Duncan to look at. The reason Duncan was at Highever in the first place. He seemed nice enough but most important, Duncan had seen something in him to make him offer him a place within the Grey Wardens. If nothing else, Alistair respected Duncan's judgment and would be glad to have him along. They truly needed all the help they could get, especially someone who if circumstances would have been different, may also have been a Grey Warden.

Kathryn turned to Alistair. "Roland, this is Alistair of the Grey Wardens. He was recruited over six months ago and was trained as a templar. Alistair, this is Roland, he is a knight who was in service to my… at Highever." She said. Alistair could tell that she had suddenly realized that she had not told him who she was or the circumstances of her recruitment and did not know what he knew.

"I heard what happened. I'm very sorry." Alistair said. "But glad to have you join us." Alistair held out his hand and Roland took it. "Welcome to the party." Alistair said. Roland smiled. Well, at least he got the joke, Alistair thought.

"Thank you." Roland said. "I hope to be of service, even if just to pour the wine."

12.3 Leliana

Leliana looked up when she heard the door to the tavern open. Four people walked in. An impressive group, she thought, two women, a beautiful brunette rogue and black haired mysterious looking mage with interesting taste in clothing, and two male warriors, a nice looking although quiet sort of red head and a blond who was quite handsome in a lost puppy sort of way. She didn't think they were bandits and most of the survivors from the battle had come and gone, perhaps mercenaries. She hoped so, for they might be persuaded to help the people here.

There were soldiers in the tavern, not that they had been any help. When they Teyrn had passed through they had been left behind, supposedly to look for any surviving Grey Wardens. The Teyrn had said they were responsible and declared them traitors, but she also knew few believed it. Up until this point, the soldiers had been completely occupied with their ale. Now they turned their attention to the group that had just entered. This could get ugly, she thought. She started to walk towards them.

The soldiers said they had been looking for the woman, that could only mean that she was a Grey Warden. This was it! This must be the sign that she had been waiting for! This had to be the Maker's will! For a Grey Warden to walk into this tavern, today of all days! She could help them. She knew she could, she had skills albeit they might be a bit rusty, although her archery had improved greatly since being in the chantry. She just had to convince them of that. She would try to diffuse the situation with the soldiers, but she doubted that would work. If not, she would assist them in whatever happened and prove that she was serious about accompanying them on their mission.

As she suspected a fight ensued but it was over quickly. She was glad that the woman, the lovely brunette who seemed to be in charge, let the men go without further bloodshed.

"I'm sorry for interfering but I couldn't sit by and not help." Leliana said.

"So I see. Where does a sister learn to fight like that." The brunette asked.

"I wasn't born in the Chantry, you know. Many of us had more... colorful lives before we joined. Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering. Or I was." She said.

"Pleased to meet you, my name is Kathryn."

"Those men said you're Grey Warden. You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do? I know after what happened, you'll need all the help you can get. That's why I'm coming along." Perhaps she should not assume such, but they did need assistance and with her willingness to help, how could they not allow her to accompany them?

Kathryn looked a bit taken aback and asked. "Why so eager to come with me?"

"The Maker told me to." She said with simple honestly, firm in the belief. Once they understood it was the Maker's will, his own plan and design that she help them… although perhaps she shouldn't have just come out and said it like that.

"Can you elaborate?" Kathryn asked.

"I-I know that sounds... absolutely insane – but its true! I had a dream... a vision!" She said with emphasis.

"More crazy? I thought we were all full up." The blond haired man said.

"Look at the people here. They are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos... will spread. The Maker doesn't want this. What you do, what you are meant to do, it is the Maker's work. Let me help!" She saw the hesitation, her heart fell. No, the Maker must mean for her to go with them. He must!

"Her plea seems wholehearted and even though she seems a little... strange, she does have skill. I vote to let her come along." The blond man said. Thank the Maker!

"I thought you said we had enough crazy." Kathryn said to the blond man.

"Yes, but she seems more... "Ooh, pretty colors!" than "Muahaha! I am Princess Stabbity! Stab, kill, kill!" She could see that while it was Kathryn's decision, she took the blond man's opinion seriously.

"Very well. I will not turn away help when it is offered." Kathryn said.

"Thank you! I appreciate being given this chance. I will not let you down." Leliana said overjoyed.

12.4 Alistair

Kathryn was concluding her business with the chanter. Leliana was getting her personal belonging from the chantry. Roland was picking out a new greatsword from the merchant. Alistair was wandering around, waiting on the others when he somehow found himself in the chantry's garden. It was hard to imagine how you could hide a place this size in a village this small but that was the case. Most probably walked through Lothering without ever realizing it was here, hiding as it was in plain sight. Normally it would contain rows of vegetables, several fruit trees, herbs, medicinal plants, and a few flowering plants and bushes. But nearly everything useful had been stripped from it. You could nearly feel the desperation of those who had been through here. Desperation filling the empty space in a place that should be full of life.

The others should be ready by now, he thought. He turned to go when a flash of color caught his eye. A flash of deep red in amid all the green and brown. In the far corner, there appeared to be a small bird trapped in a dead bush. He walked over to see if he could free it. But as he approached he saw that it wasn't a bird but... a... rose. A single, perfect, beautiful rose growing out of what otherwise appeared to be a dead bush. "How is that possible? How could this dead bush produce such a gorgeous living flower?" He thought. "How could something so... beautiful even exist... here in this place... filled as it was with so much despair and... ugliness."

There was something sad and yet hopeful in seeing this rose, surviving in such a place and at such a time. Then it struck him as truth so often does, that this is why the world was worth saving. Why the sacrifices and struggles were worth it. As ugly as the world is, as unfair and cruel as it can be, and as evil as the people in it sometimes are, it is worth saving because there was the potential for such beauty, for love and joy and happiness.

He removed his glove and reached out to touch it, just to make sure that it was real. The petals felt of velvet. He smelled it. The scent seemed to fill his lungs calling forth, as scent so often does, a memory from another happier, better time acting as a balm to his heart and spirit. He felt along the stem. The bush itself was dead. The branches dry and brittle. It was as if all the life left in the bush was focused into this one stem, this one rose. A last gasp, a last act of defiance. He smiled for the first time since awakening in the wilds.

He started to walk away, but couldn't take his eyes off the rose. The garden had been abandoned, all else plundered and desolate. No one else would even know it was here. The darkspawn when they overran this place would destroy it, and it would mean nothing to them. Before he could even stop himself, he reached out and found the dead part of the stem and snapped it. He took out a piece of cloth from his pack and gently wrapped the rose in it and then made a place for it so that it was in no danger of getting crushed. He then ran out to where the others were waiting.

12.5 Kathryn

Their business now concluded, they prepared to leave Lothering and find a place to camp for the night. Roland had his new greatsword and the rest of the supplies. Leliana had returned with her few personal belongings. Alistair... appeared out of nowhere and smiled at her. The first one she had seen from him since the tower. She was glad. They started walking towards the highway.

She was so thankful that Roland had survived, that he had made it to Lothering and that they had found each other. It seemed incredible, simply unbelievable. He had stayed behind, refusing to come with them, knowing that he would likely mean his death, so that she had a chance to escape. She had thought herself alone since it seemed likely that Fergus had not survived, but now, to have him along with her, meant so much. It gave her hope. With so much unknown and new, he was familiar, a stabilizing presence, his loyalty and support she knew were unquestionable.

Leliana, while it was a bit odd to claim that she had a vision to help them, they did need help. And she had to admit, at times the Maker works in strange and unfathomable ways. The important thing was that she had skill and was willing to help them. For Kathryn that was enough.

Morrigan… hardly knew what to think of her. Perhaps if she had been raised in a swamp and was a mage hunted by the chantry, she may act as she did. Flemeth wasn't exactly the most diplomatic person she had met and perhaps her being raised a noble with its rules and manners and subtly and proper etiquette and such made her more sensitive to such things. But making fun of someone's natural expression of grief wasn't winning Morrigan any points with her. Being direct not the same as being heartless. But she was useful, maybe if she could just keep the two of them away from each other, it might be alright.

Also they had recruited a qunari who called himself Sten. He had been convicted of the murder of a farmhold. But there was something about him, the way he talked, of regret and remorse, and his interest in atonement and fighting against the blight. She felt that there was more to story, at least she hoped so. With Leliana's help, they had convinced the Revered Mother to release him into her custody, and as it was, they couldn't be choosy. They had retrieved his things, bought supplies and gear, did a few errands for the chantry and others and now it was time to take their leave.

She had told Sten and Morrigan to wait by the entrance to the highway, just to minimize the potential trouble. As they left the village proper and made around the windmill, there stood a group of armed villagers. Alistair said low, "Let me guess. Welcoming committee."

"Considering we are leaving instead of arriving, I'll vote no." Kathryn said.

"Maybe they're just now got around to us, there are a lot of refugees…" She gave him a look. "Right," he said. "...didn't think so."

As they approached one of the villagers addressed them "We heard what was said. You're a warden. I don't know if you killed King Cailan and Maker forgive me I don't care but that bounty on your head could fill a lot of hungry bellies. Attack!"

What the villagers lacked in skill, they made up for in numbers and maces and clubs. Leliana got in a few key shots in and then switched to daggers. Alistair got the attention of most of them, but Kathryn knew he was more vulnerable to being overwhelmed by numbers. Roland while effective against such opponents was not up to his old self. She told Leliana "You take the red head."

Leliana called out "Got him." and fell back to where he was. She had proven a good archer in fighting the bandits. Now see how good she was with a blade.

Kathryn hit the first couple and then circled back behind Alistair. He had targeted the main mace wielder directly while the majority of the rest surrounded him. She started after the ones at his flank, picking them off. Roland and Leliana had all they could handle, but they looked like they could handle them. One by one the villagers fell, at the end they stood over the bodies of more than a dozen.

Kathryn indicated the bodies, "What were they thinking?"

"That they had the advantage of numbers." Alistair replied.

"I almost feel sorry for them." She said.

"Almost?" He said.

"Yes… almost."

"Yeah me too." He said.

She looked at the number of bodies behind him as opposed to in front of where he stood. "I won." She said.

He looked to her with smile and pointed to the one villager. "But he had a mace."

"...and…" She said.

"I'll remember this next time you get grabbed up by a ogre." He said.

Roland and Leliana walked up. "Everyone alright." she asked. Both of them nodded.

They meet up with others at the highway and then heard call for help. As they ran up the ramp they were attacked by darkspawn. Kathryn could see the surprise in the faces of both Roland and Leliana, but after the momentary shock, they both attacked. Leliana went back to the bow, timing and aiming her shots with precision. Sten attacked the darkspawn with a ferocity that seemed to border on hatred. He had impressive skills but ones weakened by weeks spent in the cage. Roland and him went after the weaker fighters. Alistair went after the alpha. She circled around him, between the two of them the alpha quickly fell. They then ganged up on those remaining until they stood alone.

After she spoke to the dwarven merchant who had issued the call for help, she noticed that Roland was looking intently at one of the darkspawn. She walked up to him. "Are you alright?" she asked.

He looked up. "Yes, it's just… seeing them for the first time… now I understand the stories, the horror and the fear. I see why they must be stopped at all costs."

"And we will." she said. We have to. She thought. There is no one else.


	13. Chapter 13: First Camp: Evening

13.1 Alistair and Kathryn

The little that Kathryn knew about the Qunari was that the Qun ruled all aspects of life, including, apparently, how and where to set up a camp. Sten rejected several locations as being unsuitable before settling on one and dictating where the tents and fire should be placed, with all the sure authority of one who has done this so many times they have forgotten why they do it this way, just that it works.

The other important order of business was to determine who was to be in charge of cooking. Alistair admitted that given the monastery used kitchen duty as a punishment for various infractions, he had extensive experience and could prepare food fit for consumption. However whether or not anyone actually wanted to eat it was a different matter since the brothers were not overly concerned with how the food tasted, if it tasted at all. But since that was more than any of the rest of them could claim, he was unanimously elected the group's cook.

After dinner, which true to his word, was edible if unappetizing, she asked him about the Grey Wardens, and firmly established that they were on their own.

She started to turn away when she blurted out "Do you want to talk about Duncan?"

Alistair wasn't sure he did really but was glad that she had asked. "You don't have to do that. I know you didn't know him as long as I did."

"I just thought that you might need to talk." She said gently, trying to show she was not prying but available. Talking afterwords had helped her somewhat, or perhaps it was just knowing someone was there to listen, but either way.

He sighed "I... should have handled it better." He said without realizing he was going to. "Duncan warned me right from the beginning that this could happen, any of us could die in battle." Just not all of them, and not betrayed and left to die... but still... he should have been prepared, should have been able to hold himself together... shouldn't have dumped everything on her. And he felt horrible about it. "I shouldn't have lost it, not when so much is riding on us, not with the blight and... everything. I'm sorry."

"There is no need to apologize." She said and he could tell she meant it, which helped some.

"I'd... like to have a proper funeral for him. Maybe once this is all done. If we're still alive. I don't think he had any family to speak of." He realized how little he knew about him, how little time they really had known each other. It just didn't seem fair, none of it did.

"Well, he had you." She said.

He smiled and hoped that maybe that had brought Duncan some comfort. "I supposed he did." It was right there, what really had been bothering him since he had found out. It would be so easy to say it, to admit it, but it was silly, he knew. And she'd probably laugh or think him an idiot or a bigger idiot than she already did or both. But she did seem understanding about the whole thing. "I probably sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I was with him, in the battle. I feel like I abandoned him."

She looked down for a moment and with a slight wince said. "No, I understand completely."

"Of course, I'd be dead, then, wouldn't I? It's not like that would make him any happier." And there would be one less Grey Warden left to fight the blight, not that he'd been much help so far. "I think he came from Highever, or so he said. Maybe I'll go up there sometime, see about putting up something in his honor. I don't know. Have you... had someone close to you die? Not that I mean to pry, I'm just..."

Her expression went completely blank just about the time he remembered that her entire family had just recently been murdered. It was just with everything that had happened... Oh, quit making excuses! You're an idiot! An insensitive one at that. Maker's Breath! Do you think it at all possible for you to have a conversation with her in which you don't stick your foot in your mouth? He asked himself, already knowing the answer.

"I've lost enough to know what you're going through." She said simply, closing the subject.

"Yes, I... imagine you really have, haven't you?" He said. She didn't want to talk about it, and she had any inclination, him forgetting about it probably fixed that. But she was now making it clear that this had been her asking him about Duncan. Just leave it at that. "Thank you. I mean it. It was good to talk about it, at least a little." He said truly grateful.

"Maybe I'll go with you to Highever with you, when you go." She said.

"I'd like that, and so would he, I think." He said. She turned and took a step away. "You never actually told me what happened, you know. I heard, of course... I just thought you would when you were ready."

She stopped and turned back to him. "And I will." She said and walked away.

13.2 Roland and Kathryn

Kathryn walked over to where Roland was finishing off the last of the stew. He looked up slightly embarrassed. "Been surviving on meager rations for the last few days. May not be much but it is edible." He said.

"Can't ask for much more at this point." She said as she sat beside him. "Are you alright? Really? Is there anything you need or anything I can do? We can go to the tower or Denerim, find you a healer. Even Flemeth, might be willing..." She asked.

He smiled. "No, I'm fine or I will be. I got good care from a sister in a nearby town, for which I am grateful. I might not have made it otherwise. But it will just take time."

She nodded. "Okay, please if there is anything..."

"I will. Thank you, Kathryn." He said emphasizing her name. "I like being able to call you that again."

She smiled wide. "Yes, 'my lady' gets old... Roland."

"I never thought we would be able to just sit like this ever again." He said.

"I know, it is so silly how..." she started.

"I didn't abandon the gate!" He interrupted her, blurting it out as though he simply couldn't stop himself any longer.

Kathryn looked at him, eyes wide. "I know that. I never thought otherwise, and even if you had, I wouldn't... couldn't blame you for trying to escape death... or worse at the hands of Howe's men." Her voice was unsteady. She swallowed hard. "I know that I only escaped because you stayed, because you held the gate, because of what you did for me."

His hands were shaking slightly. He looked at the ground, breathing hard. "We held the door but the door frame finally cracked. They came rushing through. There were just so many. We couldn't stop them. We tried... but there were just too many. I don't remember how... they thought I was... dead... and put me in the pile with the other bodies... to be burned. I... woke up there and... escaped." He said in a rush.

She reached over and placed her hand on his. "Roland, I am so... so very sorry. I can't even..."

"I wanted to tell you... I... saw... his lordship and her ladyship there. Howe's men... they didn't… hurt them. They must have died before they found them." He said.

Kathryn looked to him, confused. "But mother, she wasn't injured... I don't..."

"She had a wound to her wrist, severe. She was very pale... it must have been blood loss." Roland said hoping he wouldn't have to spell it out for her.

Kathryn began to nod. "Yes, mother would not let them be captured. If father... yes, she would have... she wouldn't let Howe have the satisfaction." She said with a great deal of bitterness.

"They looked... peaceful. I saw them to the Maker myself. Howe never even saw them. I wanted to tell you that." He said, his voice steady again.

"Thank you, Roland." She got up and quickly walked off into the night.

13.3 Alistair and Roland

Roland took the greatsword they had bought in Lothering. It was a good blade, nothing special but well made. He walked out past the tents to an open area. The moon was bright and the sky clear enough to see by. In fact the light was easier on his eyes, which were still sensitive to daylight. In Lothering, his timing had been off, footwork unsteady, balance and stance awkward. No doubt he had looked more like a wash-woman batting clothes than a knight. He needed practice, work the routines and moves till they felt natural again. After any injury the body has to, in many ways, relearn such things or at least remember them. He needed to get back into fighting form. So much depended on them and he wanted to help as much as he could, and he couldn't do much like this.

He started slowly with the basics he had learned as a boy. He went through the routines, the stances and moves, the blows and blocks, swings and strikes. So much of this had been second nature to him, to try to work through it now was beyond frustrating. But he was determined to keep at it.

He spun around, his feet moved too slowly or his body too quickly. He had to compromise his form to stop himself from tripping over his own feet. The sword swung out widely and he couldn't hold on to it. It landed several feet away from him, and about the same distance from Alistair who had walked up. Alistair looked at the sword and then said. "I was going to ask how it was going, but I see it's going well."

"I... I was... working on my timing... footwork... since the castle... I got a pretty bad blow and..." He reached up and rubbed his forehead and then laughed a nervous, embarrassed laugh. "I haven't lost hold of a blade in ten years."

Alistair picked up the sword and handed it back to him. "Well, I've had to work through a few injuries myself. I know it takes time but it comes back. However, it is easier to focus if you have someone to focus on. If you want I could stand in for you."

"I couldn't ask that of you. It's just going through drills, tedious and monotonous ones at that." Roland said.

"You didn't ask. I offered. And lest you forget, I was raised in a monastery. They are experts in tedious and monotonous. Besides you won't have to worry about hurting me and it might help." He pulled out his sword and began adjusting the straps on his shield.

Roland smiled. He knew that he was right, it would help a great deal and was a generous offer of his time and energy. "I would be most grateful." He said.

Over and over, back and forth, from tediousness to monotonous and over again. Then slowly the moves began to feel familiar, the footwork natural, the stances second nature, the dizziness became manageable. As the night wore on, he began to feel like himself again.

"So, you were a knight at Highever?" Alistair asked as they sat on the grass catching their breath or as Roland caught his breath, Alistair wasn't even winded.

"Yes," Roland answered. "My father is a minor lord in the east bannorn, but our lands are really just a glorified farmstead. He sent me to squire there when I was ten, which was about fourteen years ago now."

"So, you and Kathryn... basically grew up together." Alistair asked seemingly making conversation.

"Well, yes. Fergus is several years older than I while she is about two years younger. So, it was always just the two of us, studying, training, going on our own adventures, getting into trouble, things children do." Roland said with a smile, slightly lost in fond memories.

"She's like a... sister to you then." Alistair said.

"She... was... when we were growing up." Roland said slightly lost in thought.

"Was?" Alistair asked.

"Well..." Roland was slightly hesitant to talk about such things with someone he barely knew but Alistair seemed a good sort and it wasn't a story he wouldn't find out eventually. Besides it would be good to talk about the things he had been thinking about nearly constantly since he saw her again. "we grew up and one day we weren't children anymore. I should be ashamed of it really, to admit how I acted, what I allowed to happen. But you do stupid things, take stupid risks when you think you are in love." He said shaking his head.

"In love..." Alistair said and swallowed hard.

"Yes. Before I was knighted, we fancied ourselves to be in love... who knows… maybe we were. Anyway, we wrote each other love notes and bad poems, held hands when no one was around and stole kisses in the larder." Roland said fondly.

"Kissed her! You kissed her!" Alistair said much louder than he intended to.

"I know... to have done that... the daughter of my lord... I should truly be ashamed of myself. It was inexcusable behavior. But that was as far as it ever went. I was very fortunate that the Teyrn is... was an understanding man. He could have sent me back to my father in shame but he didn't. He made it clear that such behavior could not continue and asked for my word that it end. I gave it to him and have held to it. But I still... care for her... very much." Roland said with emotion. Alistair stared at the ground. Roland continued. "I have kissed others since, of course, been with them, but I never felt for them what I felt for her even after these many years."

"Been with them? You mean like... been with them?" Alistair asked.

"Yes. Although not as many as I claim in the barracks but more than I would admit to a lady, of course." Roland said with a slight smile. Of course. Alistair thought. Of course, you have.

Roland said. "I know I should be ashamed but in truth I hold that time very dear. I was waiting with dread for the day that she would be married and leave Highever for good. Be married, no doubt, to some rich and powerful noble who wanted her for her name or for her beauty but didn't love nor respect her. I sometimes allowed myself to believe that perhaps one reason she hadn't married is that she still carried some feeling for me."

"You think... she... does?" Alistair asked still staring at the ground.

"I do not know... for sure. But when I told her that I was determined to stay and hold the gate so that she could escape... she kissed me." Roland said.

"She kissed you." Alistair said quietly with a sigh.

"I know it was gratitude… but there was something there, you know, that... something was still there after all this time." He said. No, Alistair thought, he didn't know. He didn't have the slightest idea what Roland was talking about. Well, he had heard about it but know about it himself, no, nothing even close. Roland continued. "When Duncan came to the castle, I had the foolish hope that he might recruit both of us. That then we could be together and there would be nothing... that maybe we could... finally... be together..." Roland said. "...and now..."

"No, it is not foolish to hope for such things... not at all." Alistair said softly. Several moments went by with each man lost in their own thoughts.

Then Roland looked to Alistair and said. "Do you have any family?"

"Me? No. My parents are both dead. Since I didn't have anyone to take care of me, I was sent to the monastery, and they decided I should be a templar. Believe me, it wasn't my choice… I may have a… no, there is no one." Alistair said.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I haven't seen my father in years, since I was knighted in fact, but we write often. It would be difficult if he wasn't there, hadn't been there." Roland said. Finally, Roland stood up and said. "I think that is enough for me. I want to thank you, truly. You were a great help."

"Anytime." Alistair said and watched as Roland walked back to the fire.

13.4 Alistair

Alistair leaned back and looked at the stars. He thought that constellation was named for a tale about a noble's daughter who fell in love with one of her father's soldiers. So, they had grown up together, fell in love, but were kept apart by social restrictions, ones that he didn't need to remind himself, were no longer relevant. He is a knight from a good family, the son of a lord, someone who knows about women, even been with them. He still loves her, of course... how could he not... and he stayed behind, facing certain death or worse to give her a chance to escape. She owes him her life and... she kissed him. He had seen how she had rushed to him in Lothering... hugged him in the square...

The worst part about it all was that he liked Roland. For all intents and purposes, he seemed a good man, solid, brave and he was glad he had joined them, glad to have him as a comrade, glad even to perhaps, in time, call him a friend. And he had to admit if anyone... deserved her, it would be him. Part of him even hoped that it did work out for them. What they were trying to do, what she would have to do, would be difficult and trying and she may need someone. He wanted her to be happy. But there was another part of him that was... disappointed. He had thought... hoped... but now...

He stood up and started walking through his own progressions, steps and forms, stances and strikes, blocks and blows, trying to work out this feeling, this sinking, empty feeling he now had. He closed his eyes, seeing it all in his head, going through it again and again, over and over. Being the outsider he was used to practicing by himself or with imaginary opponents. He spun around ready to slice off the head of a particularly vicious darkspawn when his blade struck something. He heard the sound of metal on metal. He opened his eyes to see Kathryn standing there, daggers crossed holding his sword between them. She quickly pulled them apart driving his sword back.


	14. Chapter 14: First Camp: Night

14.1 Alistair and Kathryn

Alistair had just enough time to get set before Kathryn unleashed a flurry of blows, fore strike, backhand, thrust, off-hand strike, backhand, thrust. He furiously tried to counter each strike, blocking with his shield and using his sword to deflect. But she was too fast and he took one of her strikes to his midsection. He felt the sharp sting of the blow. She wasn't playing around... she wanted to fight... to really fight... with him. Wow!

It would be a battle of her quickness and speed verses his resilience and endurance; her ability to dodge verses his ability to defend; her multitude of strikes to his stronger ones; her talent for exploiting weakness verses his strength. In such a fair fight, he held the advantage, for rogues seldom, if ever, fight fair. Time was also on his side for she as any rogue can only maintain peak speed for a short time. If he could outlast her best and first attacks, if the fight became a war of attrition, meaning if she didn't best him quickly, she probably wouldn't. But then again winning wasn't the point.

She brought both daggers up to his sword side. He blocked them with the side of his blade, and pushed them back. He then spun around and slashed with the edge of his shield. She dodged the strike. With his shield now being out of position to block, she issued a quick kick, meant to strike his midsection or groin. But he stepped into the kick turning to the side and setting his feet, taking it to his hip. For her it was like kicking a stone wall or getting kicked by one. The force of the kick pushed her backwards, pain shot through her entire leg. She stumbled, desperately trying to stay on her feet. He came after her slashing with his sword. She dodged and deflected, retreating the entire time.

As he advanced on her, she reset her feet and stepped forward, using her daggers to defect a thrust to her right. She turned to the right intending to spin past him and deliver a backward strike to his vulnerable flank. However, he kept turning to his left bringing his shield back in time to deflect the blow so that it glanced harmlessly off his shoulder. She backed up and then rushed him, bluffing a high strike and then slashing low at his knees and ankles. He was thrown off balance. She kicked again. This time the blow landed. He couldn't compensate, overbalanced and fell onto his back. She stepped on his shield, pinning it to the ground. She brought up both daggers for the 'kill', but he released the shield, rolled over and quickly got back to his feet.

Without his shield, he was at a distinct disadvantage even with the heavy armor. She pushed her edge and came at him with another barrage of lightening fast strikes. He was able to keep up, but only barely. He deflected what he could with his sword and took the rest off his wrist guards. The shield is slower, of course, but it takes most of the damage or at least spreads it over a wider area, allowing the force to be more easily absorbed. The wrist guards protected from cuts but he still felt the full force of the strikes to his forearms. He couldn't keep this up or he'd lose feeling in his hands, and he could temporarily lose functionality, his grip on his sword. He finally caught a dual strike from both daggers with his sword, deflecting them downward and to her right, leaving her open. She saw him bring up his fist, and then lower it.

Damn. She thought. She couldn't help but be disappointed. She had thought that if anyone would have respected her as a fighter, seen her as an equal and not thought of her as just a 'girl,' it would have been him. She doubted very much that any darkspawn, bandit or soldier would be so courteous. She guessed no one... then he quickly brought his fist back up and hit her square in the chest. She staggered back, trying to catch her breath. He stepped forward as she went to a knee. He made a swing intended for her throat and the 'kill' but she dove to the ground landing on her side. She kicked him with her top leg in the back of his thigh. He fell to a knee. She rolled back and jumped up. He swung wildly at her, but she was able to evade it, letting the sword cut through the air where she had been.

He looked up at her. She had gotten his shield away from him. He couldn't remember the last time anything like that had happened to him in a real fight, much less a sparring match. She was still catching her breath from the punch. Her chest was heaving up and down, hair tossed by the wind, muscles flexed and taunt, checks flushed, eyes full of fire and lips curled into a wicked smile. Hot!

If he tried to stand, he would be unable to block and with her quickness she could deliver a 'kill' before he had time to get set. However, he had the advantage of reach. She had to get within his range before he was within hers. She stepped to just within arms reach, ready to block the attack she knew he would make, and then counter-strike for the 'kill.' But he slashed upwards with more force than she was expecting and, in truth, thought him capable of given he was kneeling. She tried to block it but the force of the blow knocked her daggers back. Pain shot up both her arms, her shoulders twinged from the blow and she was forced to evade the next strike, putting her out of position for any follow up. He had just a moment before she recovered to get to his feet. He leaned forward putting all his weight on his bent leg and then with effort pushed himself to his feet. He took a step back to reset. Then he started advancing on her, taking the sword in both hands, making huge, powerful swings. She didn't dare try to block them and had no choice but to dodge each one, as they forced her back again and again.

Wow! She thought when she realized that he had lifted his entire body weight plus armor forcefully and quickly with one leg... had swung from one knee powerfully enough to nearly knock her daggers from her hands... taken a full kick to his hip without flinching... He was... strong! She couldn't even imagine the muscles he had in his legs... back... shoulders... arms... well, she could try... might try... later...

He raised his sword high over his head. She retreated even farther, putting even more space between them and getting set for a major attack. Just as she got set, he… turned and ran back to where his shield was laying which, given the distance he had driven her back, was several steps behind him now. He calmly picked it up and adjusted his grip and got into his normal stance albeit with a his own sly smile. He had just 'won' and they both knew it.

She tilted her head to the side, dropped her shoulders and let her daggers fall to her sides. She tried weakly to suppress a smile and failing started to shake her head and laugh. For his part, he was just glad she wasn't upset that he had hit her. While he was raised to be a gentleman and they were just sparring he also knew that this was the type of practice that could save their lives later. Neither darkspawn nor bandits nor anything else they were likely to encounter would give her that courtesy, nor was being a gentleman going to win him any points with a female enemy. Besides he respected her talent and skill enough to not need or even want to 'pull punches' on her, literally, and he was happy, and extremely relieved, to see that she apparently didn't want him to either.

She looked to him and smiled that smile of hers. He would have thought he'd be used to it by now. That each time she smiled at him, it wouldn't affect him the same way it had that first time. That it still wouldn't feel like someone had punched him the gut, forcing all the air out of his lungs, but it did. He stood up and lowered both sword and shield. He took his sword and gripped the blade just past the pommel and held it up before him. "Formal offer of a draw." He said with a smile.

She likewise turned her grip on her daggers until they were pointing backwards and held them up in front of her. "You're being generous. You won and you know it, but accepted." She then crossed her arms over her chest and bowed. As she looked back up to him, he took his fist, still holding the sword to his shoulder and bowed his head. After the formalities they walked to each other.

"I should win. It was a fair fight, puts you at a distinct disadvantage, no poisons, no range, no sneaky, tricky, roguey... things." He said.

"I guess then we will just have to compete for points." She said playfully.

"I... don't know." He said. "Maybe... but if I kill an ogre, that has to be worth... at least... four genlocks."

"Last ogre we fought I killed, remember." She said, crossing her arms.

"After I freed you from getting pummeled, lest you recall." He said also crossing his arms.

"I only got grabbed because I was distracting him, so you didn't get rammed again." She said.

"Yes, letting him grab you was a great distraction." He said with a smile.

"I didn't let..." She glared but while smiling. Then said. "Can I ask you a favor?"

Anything. He wanted to say. Anything at all, anything she asked him right now, he would do or give her or at least try to with all he had. He would lay all of Thedas at her feet, if she only asked him to. He shrugged. "You can ask." He said lightly. "What is it?"

"Teach me that punch. I mean how to do it and how to take it." She said.

14.2 Leliana

Leliana sat close to the fire, trying to get warm. She had never gotten used to how cold and damp Ferelden was. In addition, she was not familiar with camping in the open like this. She was more accustomed to cities and manors, palaces with halls and fires and beds. Even in Lothering, she had a roof over her head and a warm, if not particularly comfortable, bed. While the idea of camping and traveling was romantic, the freedom of the open road, sleeping under the stars, and so on. The practicalities of actually doing it, were less so. She couldn't say she was looking forward to it all but it was necessary to end the blight and she was more than willing to make nearly any sacrifice for that end.

Also from here she could better observe her traveling companions. If there was anything her life as a bard had taught her was how to read and work a room. She was glad to see that her skills hadn't completely atrophied during her time in Lothering.

Sten, the Qunari. She had never meet a Qunari before, heard about them, of course. She knew the Chantry said that they were heathens, vile and evil, but in truth, Sten didn't seem very vile or evil. True, he had murdered those people but he seemed to truly regret it. Perhaps there was more to the story. And the Maker was not so cruel to not allow for redemption or atonement. If he was willing to risk his life fighting the blight, and in truth there was nothing keeping him here besides his dedication to ending the blight, he couldn't be all bad. There was also a deep sorrow about him, she wondered why, no doubt there was a story there.

Morrigan acted and no doubt truly believed that she was better and smarter than everyone else. She seemed determined to be difficult, as though not wanting anyone to like her or even talk to her. She had noticed that those types of people who are so obvious about not needing or wanting anyone are the ones that need and want them the most, even if they have forgotten that fact. They are the truly lonely ones. It was sad really.

She did have a sort of wild elegance about her, though. She was slim with lovely, long, lines to her body, like a dancer, moved like one too. She'd love to put her in a deep velvet dress, dark red or maybe purple with a very deep v-neck. She didn't have much in the way of a bosom but she also didn't mind showing it off either. And jewelry, most definitely, and lots of it. She could tell a jewelry fiend when she saw one.

Roland, the knight, seemed... somewhat distracted and lost. She wasn't quite sure of the story. She would ask Kathryn, but he seemed to be suffering from some kind of injury. No doubt more of his personality would come through when he had recovered. From what she could tell he seemed a gentleman, sure of himself, yes, but not at all cocky or smug. A good man, brave and strong in heart and mind. Someone who would be a loyal and trustworthy friend, a human mabari, and nice looking too.

Any man can be seduced by the right woman, the trick is to figure out who that woman is and be that. The woman for him... would... be a nice, wholesome girl. Someone he could take care of, one he could show the ways of the world and of love to, a lady for him to worship and adore, to take care of protect. It was obvious, at least to her, that he knew his way around a woman, but not sure any of them had touched his heart. In her former incarnation, she wouldn't have minded taking a turn with him.

Speaking of those she wouldn't have minded taking a turn with... she watched as Kathryn walked up to where Alistair was practicing. She saw her step into his strike and block it, to what looked like his great surprise. She watched as they fought with fire and ferocity but a kind of grace and beauty too.

Alistair seemed a good man with a good and tender heart, that he wore on his sleeve. He was personable, smart, with a sense of humor that while sarcastic didn't seem to have any mean intent and... he was quite handsome too. But there was something painfully sad about him. She knew all of the other Grey Wardens, no doubt, friends of his, had died in the battle but it went deeper than that. There was a story there too, she was sure of it.

He had also never known a woman. She could spot those men a half a league away. But while he might respond to a confident and generous woman who could show him the ways of love, she wasn't sure. Many men with such deep emotions would only bear their hearts and bodies to one they truly loved. In her former life, she may have only seen him as a challenge, to see if she could make him love her and get him into bed and then walk away. For while he wore his heart on his sleeve, it wouldn't be so easy to reach. But because her heart had been broken... no, worse than that... shattered... and it had not healed. It might never... not completely. The ways of love no longer seemed a game to her, to play for her own amusement and pleasure.

She felt an attraction to him, to be sure, but... she was also hesitant. Perhaps... she wasn't ready... maybe... he wasn't the right person... or she wasn't the right person for him. She could see how deeply his emotions ran, how much he could be hurt. Such deep emotions are a great responsibility, but the rewards... the true love and complete devotion of such a man...

She continued to watch the fight, with its fury and passion. Kathryn was... impressive in many ways. She had an air about her of authority and confidence. She was smart and cunning, persuasive and would make a excellent bard. But there was a hardness about her, a cold practicality in her thoughts and judgment. She seemed to have a good heart to go along with her good head but she would unquestioningly follow the latter over the former, even to her own detriment.

She had not known a man or, for that matter, a woman. She didn't seem to be interested in the latter but you never know and she was beautiful... and more her type, more what she was used to. But that had been before... much had changed... she had changed. Her type had broken her heart... but that had been a matter of character and Kathryn had more than... anyway. She would love to get her into (and then out of) a dress of silk, something very dark if not black, simple, elegant but distinctive. She had a good figure, strong limbs and hips with a nice bosom. She would be an enigma in her outfit as in her person. She would wear a dress that showed no skin at all but tight to the body, with a high neck, long sleeves and gloves. Yes, she was definitely a glove girl. An outfit that showed everything but nothing at the same time, keeping safe the mysteries of her self, heart and body. Mysteries that she had to admit intrigued her.

And since she was picking out dresses, she'd put herself in satin, a strong color, sapphire blue or even emerald green, something to show off her legs, open neck or even off-shoulder, something daring. She had been dressing in a Chantry robe for so long. She hadn't even thought about so many of the nice things she had before and how much she missed them. When they went to Denerim, she had to get some new shoes... blue... with ribbons...

14.3 Roland

Roland walked back to the fire and double checked that there was no stew left. He was actually starting to get his appetite back which he hoped meant he was nearly back to normal. As he walked to his tent, he looked back as Alistair started walking though what he assumed was his own training routines, advanced stuff from the look of it. Most sword and shield moves he knew of or had ever seen, comprised of setting your feet and barely moving them, holding up your shield and letting the enemy pummel you until they got tired and you swung at them. Definitely not the kind of aggressive strikes with the shield he was seeing now or the intricate footwork. A spin move... for a sword and shield warrior... impressive!

Roland wished he could stand in for him as Alistair had for him, but he was exhausted. Since the attack, he tired more easily. He was getting stronger, but he wasn't up to that level, not yet. One day, hopefully soon, they would be able to have a real go at it, a formal tournament type duel. He had been in a few and had done well. It would be fun and from the look of it a real challenge. He liked Alistair. He seemed a good man, generous, brave and honorable. The type of man you would want as a friend and comrade. It was too bad he hadn't squired at Highever, he would have fit right in at the castle. But he was very glad he had survived the battle and was part of the group.

He approved very much of both him and the sister, Leliana. She seemed very devoted and not shy about it. But with all that had happened her simple faith and bright personality seemed just what they all needed. He suspected that the Maker had brought her to them and was glad of it.

He was about to step into his tent when he saw Kathryn walk up to where Alistair was practicing. Alistair's head was down and his eyes were probably closed. It was an exercise, going through the moves blind, trying to image them, to visual them. She slowly and quietly drew her daggers and waited and just as he swung, she stepped into the strike. Roland's heart stopped for a moment, but she held the blow and pushed his sword back. Alistair for his part, had been surprised to find someone on the pointy end of his sword but recovered quickly and it was a good thing to, for without warning she unleashed a barrage of blows.

Roland watched captivated by the fight. She had improved greatly since the last time they had sparred. Of course they hadn't sparred in a long time, either. He always went easy on her and the last time she had 'beaten' him and that had been the last time. He now wondered if that was more than a coincidence. Watching her now, he suspected that she had known he was in affect, humoring her and that was why they had not fought since then.

She got Alistair's shield away from him. Good move! That would nearly even the fight. However, Alistair seemed almost as good blocking with his sword and wrist guards, although that had to be quite painful. Then... he... punched her! What?! How could he? How... dare he? She is a woman and a lady! Dear Maker! Alistair should know better, they were only sparring. He was going too hard on her. Roland thought. She was likely to get hurt. Roland continued to watch nervously as swing after powerful swing barely missed her.

Then as she fell back, Alistair ran over and calmly picked up his shield. Roland had to admit that was a good bluff and in effect the winning move. She would be furious not only with the punch but the fact that she had in effect lost. She was never a good loser... but then... he heard her... laugh. Alistair brought up his sword in a gesture of truce, the offering of a draw which she accepted. She bowed to him with arms crossed in a show of respect while he took his fist to his shoulder in another sign of respect and ones he had to admit had been well earned.

After the formalities, he watched as Alistair taught her how to give and deflect a punch. Things Roland could have shown her if he had ever thought of it. But a lady didn't punch people and besides who would ever hit a woman? Well, now that you mention it, any bandit or solider or darkspawn or nearly anything else she was likely to fight. Roland had to admit he envied him this moment and that something about it made him slightly uncomfortable, although he wasn't sure why. He remembered how in Lothering she had fought with Alistair and not him. But that could be easily put down to the fact that they had fought together more recently. He was tired, he started into his tent but took one last look at them. Now they were working on him countering her sweeping strike to his lower legs. This was a good thing, them practicing and learning from each other like this, and for some reason he needed to remind himself of that.


	15. Chapter 15: Second Camp

15.1 Kathryn and Roland

Kathryn and Roland had spent most of the evening, talking and laughing recalling growing up at Highever. As painful as it had, at times, been, it had done them both good to remember the castle and the people in it fondly, and to talk of them together.

As the moon rose, Kathryn could tell that Roland was tiring and said good night. As she got up to leave, he said. "I have not yet completely recovered as of yet, but I have much improved in these last days and know that soon I shall. As I told you I was recruited by Duncan and want nothing more than to become a Grey Warden and share that burden and responsibilities with you and Alistair. I just wish to know what it is that I must do."

She sat back down beside him. "It isn't that simple." She thought for a moment and then with a sigh said. "To become a Grey Warden, you must go through a ritual called the Joining. It basically entails drinking a potion which turns you into a Grey Warden." She lowered her voice and continued. "The potion includes the blood of the darkspawn and drinking it makes you immune to the taint, the poison, carried in their blood and in time it allows you to sense them."

His eyes grew the slightest bit wide at the notion of drinking darkspawn blood but then he seemed to see the logic of it making one immune to its poison. He considered for a moment and then nodded his head and said. "All right, that sounds useful in fighting them. But there has to be a downside to it, besides the obvious."

"There is a risk, not all who take the Joining survive it. I saw one of the recruits die in front of me. He would have made a good warden too." She said with sadness.

"Despite that, I still wish to attempt it." Roland said.

"I knew you would." She said with a smile. "However, neither I nor Alistair know how to prepare the potion." Roland looked crestfallen. "I'm sorry." She said, but in truth she wasn't sorry at all. In fact, she was glad, for while she did think that he would survive the Joining, she was not willing to risk his life, no matter how small she thought the chance was.

"Well, then I'll do whatever I can to help, until we find out how to prepare this joining." He said.

"Yes, and when we do, I'll be glad to have you become a Grey Warden." She said but in truth, she had already decided that if she anything to do with it, he would never take the joining.

15.2 Alistair and Kathryn

Alistair looked over the map by the fire. He had been studying it for a while now, well, pretending to study it was more like it. Really he had been listening in to Kathryn's and Roland's conversation without them knowing. It was good to hear her laugh and he wanted to hear the stories about her growing up, the kind of child she had been. Apparently a mischievous but good natured one, learning to pick locks to steal cookies from the larder, playing pranks on the soldiers and her tutor, sneaking out of the castle to go exploring, climbing to the top of the watchtower just because Roland had said she couldn't. Her family sounded like a nice, warm, teasing sort. He wished he could have met them.

He was a little jealous (okay maybe a lot) in that him and her had no such memories to talk of. About all they could talk about were the sheer number of times something had tried to kill them. 'Hey, remember that time we nearly got killed? No, the other time. No, the one before that. Yes. That one. Good times.'

Roland was now talking about actually becoming a Grey Warden. It would be nice to have another one or a dozen of them, come to think of it, but they didn't know how to prepare the joining. Kathryn's and Roland's voices dropped out of his range of hearing and he began actually studying the map.

As much as he could figure they should arrive in Redcliffe sometime tomorrow afternoon. He hadn't seen the village or castle in ten years, nor had he seen the arl. He hoped that he was alright, that, as rumors do, his illness had been exaggerated. He hoped he would be able to talk to him... he didn't want things between them to be left the way they had been...

Kathryn walked around the fire to where Alistair was sitting. After discussing their location and that of Redcliffe, she said. "So, you said Arl Eamon raised you."

He had known this was coming. No way to avoid it, unfortunately, but he could stall. "Did I say that? I meant that dogs raised me, giant slobbering dogs from the Anderfels, a whole pack of them, in fact."

Kathryn was amused by his not to subtle way of not answering questions about himself. She tried, and was generally unsuccessfully, not to smile for she knew that just encouraged him, but she really couldn't help it. "Really, that must have been hard for them." She said.

"Well, they were flying dogs, you see. Surprisingly strict parents, too, and devout Andrastians to boot." He said.

"That is what they say about Anders." Well, she could at least play along till he was ready to tell her. It must be something big for him to stall this much.

"That and they make a great deal of cheese. Funny, but the dogs never mentioned cheese. As a matter of fact, if you said cheese around them, they'd start growling. Isn't that odd? Or did I dream all that? Funny the dreams you'll have when you sleep on the cold, hard ground. Are you having strange dreams?" He asked, bringing the stalling to an all new level.

"Yes. And they all involved strangling you." She said with a look of mock annoyance that was laced with just a touch of real impatience.

"You would do violence? Upon me? I am shocked and dismayed. The dogs would never threaten me like this, you know." Okay enough stalling, she is going to get annoyed and you have to face this sooner or later.

"Let's see. How do I explain this? I'm a bastard," He could see the slight widening of her eyes and then a small smile as she started to say something that he wasn't about to let her say. "...and before you make any smart comments, I mean the fatherless kind. My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe castle who died when I was very young. Arl Eamon wasn't my father, but he took me in anyhow and put a roof over my head. He was good to me, and he didn't have to be. I respect the man and I don't blame him any more for sending me off to the Chantry once I was old enough."

There he had said it. Now, he waited to see her reaction. He was expecting what he normally got, some variation of condescending, patronizing, disdainful contempt, as if he had had anything to do with the circumstances of his conception. As thought his very existence was an affront to the laws of the Maker and society. Which he guessed in a way it was. Well, maybe his existence wasn't the affront, just the evidence of the affront. He expected even more of that kind of reaction because she was a noble. Given that he was not only a commoner but the child of a servant and the bastard child of that servant, that made him about the lowest you can go on the social strata and still be considered a person, although just barely.

But as he looked, he didn't see anything like disdainful contempt, she looked more curious than anything. Was that even possible? Could it really be that the circumstances of his birth didn't mean anything to her? Didn't affect how she saw him... or how she... felt towards him? If not, well, she'd be the first. But... Oh Maker, he really hoped so.

Now, she understood his reluctance to tell her. Being a bastard carried a stigma both social and religious. No doubt, her being from a noble family hadn't made him feel any better about telling her either. Most nobles would consider him not even worthy of their contempt, not that they wouldn't give it anyway.

But she didn't feel that way. She had seen many nobles who were thoroughly worthless people without redeeming quality, even without the recent example still fresh in her mind, and she had seen many commoners of outstanding character and worth, and from what she had already witnessed that included him. The situation you were born into was not your doing but what you did after that was important.

She remembered when her and Roland had fancied themselves to be in love. When father had found out, he had made her promise that it end or he would be forced to send him back to his father. She had not understood, but father said that he must trust him in this that he loved her and would only ever do what was best for her, even if she did not understand why. She loved and respected her father and believed him and gave her promise, though at the time it broke her heart.

Roland was a good man and he loved her, why wasn't that enough? Because it isn't. She was told. Mother had tried to explain to her why their relationship would not work. It was never about worthiness or value but in this, as in everything, things are always more complicated.

Roland was the son of a minor lord, true and when his father died he would inherit the lands, be able to support a wife and family, but did she really wish to live and work on a farm? She didn't know the first thing about it and would be less than useless, even if she wanted to. Then, of course, the people she knew now would not want to associate with her. Some because they think them superior but it isn't about being better but the simple fact that the classes are different.

Nobles are given rights and privileges but they have responsibilities and duties that commoners do not. They are given education, training to fulfill those duties and responsibilities. They spend their entire lives learning those skills, just as she had, and it is their responsibility to use those skills to improve things because they have that power and the ability.

But because of that education and training, they have interests that are and must be different than commoners and they wish to associate with those who have those experiences too, with those they have things in common. A knight has little in common with a laboror, a farmer little with a soldier. Many have tried to marry outside their class but it inevitable fails. Marriage is hard enough without differences in backgrounds and experience coming into play. You'll understand one day. She was told and in truth, she did, somewhat.

Father had told her in so many words, I was to be Teyrn of Highever. I could have married an innkeeper's daughter but she could not help me fulfill my responsibilities to the people of Highever, and it was to them that I owed my highest duty. Not because she was deficient in any way, but because she would not know how, she did not have the education and training to do so. Your mother could have married a farmer but she not only would not know the first thing about it and be of little use to him and would not have been happy with that life. She had education and training and a duty to use that. We are most happy and content when we are fulfilling the roles the Maker has chosen for us.

Kathryn woke herself out of her private thoughts and considered what Alistair had said. He was still Alistair, but knowing that about him told her more about him and she wanted to know more, and not only because it might prove relevant when they got to Redcliffe and talked to the Arl.

"But you blamed him then, I take it?" She asked gently.

He was somewhat surprised that she was listening close enough to catch that. "I was young and resentful and not very pious. Of course, I blamed him. I remember screaming at him like a little child... well, I was a child, so I doubt he was surprised." He said.

Although come to think of it, he had looked surprised. The arl had tried to frame going to the monastery as being a good thing, a chance to be with boys his own age, get an education and training, just like the knight he had so wanted to be. But Alistair knew better. He was being sent away because he wasn't wanted there. Despite the fact that deep down he knew it wasn't the arl who didn't want him there, it was the arl's decision and he had decided to send him away.

"Arl Eamon eventually married a young woman from Orlais which caused all sorts of problems between him and the king because it was so soon after the war, but he loved her. Anyhow, the new arlessa resented the rumors which pegged me as his bastard. They weren't true, but of course, they existed. The arl didn't care but she did. So, off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten. Just as well, the arlessa made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point. She despised me."

And if he was ever truly honest with himself, he despised her too. The difference being he had a good reason. He truly believed that she had forced the arl to send him away probably with threats of going back to Orlais. As a man, he now understood the arl's duty to his wife and that he had little choice, but as a child he didn't and was deeply hurt by it.

Kathryn listened, carefully. She thought about Oren, about the kind of woman who would make a child's life, a child who had done nothing but be born, miserable and cause them to be sent away from the only home they had ever known for nothing more than unsubstantiated rumors. While the arl might be a good man and she had to admit to care for a bastard orphan did put a point in his favor, she already didn't like the arlessa. "What an awful thing to do to a child." She said.

"Maybe." He said but inwardly smiled at her compassion. "She felt threatened by my presence, I can see that now. I can't say I blame her. She wondered if the rumors were true herself, I bet." He said. Even if they were, that was still no excuse. She thought. He is more generous than I would be. That or he's lying or both.

Kathryn thought on everything and then she asked. "Are you sure he isn't your father?" He seemed sure or at least acted like he was but if he was the arl's son, well... it would explain a lot.

"Yes, I'm quite sure. At any rate, I don't look anything like him... you'll see for yourself. Not that it stopped the rumors any." He said.

"He isn't your father." She would accept that on his word because he did seem convinced of that fact, but that then left the question... "So do you know who is?"

Damn. He didn't want to lie to her. That would only make things worse when she did find out. He was going to have to tell her sooner or later. Probably a lot sooner than he wanted but... later than now. "I know who I was told was my father. He died even before my mother did, anyhow. It isn't important." He didn't lie, wasn't lying... that was true. The absolute truth... just not all of it. He just hoped she didn't push the issue.

She considered for a moment. He hadn't exactly answered her question. But if he didn't want to tell her, for whatever reason, she wouldn't push it.

There was a long pause and then he said a bit wistfully. "I remember I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother's. I was so furious at being sent away I tore if off and threw it at the wall and it shattered. Stupid, stupid thing to do." He said with a great deal of sadness and regret.

"The arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything... and eventually he just stopped coming." More regret. He couldn't blame the arl for giving up. He so wished he had handled things differently and he sincerely hoped he got a chance to tell the arl that.

Kathryn listened and noted to herself his second mention of how angry he had been and more evidence of a temper, screaming, throwing things, stubbornness, the holding of a grudge. She had seen no hint of it as of yet, but things like that do not disappear, not entirely. It was an interesting fascet to his personality that such a charming, warm person could possess such a temper.

"You were young." She said gently and again wondered at the arl's interest in a child, who apparently wasn't his. Maybe the arl was simply a good man who cared about him, cared about him enough that even after sending him away and having him hate him for it, he would make not only one but several trips to visit him. But she could also see how such interest would do all but confirm that the rumors about his parentage were true.

"And raised by dogs, or I may as well have been the way I acted, but maybe all young bastards act like that, I don't know. Anyway... that's really all there is to the story."

He was glad that was over... at least for now. He had told the truth, well... most of it. He had left out a few details here and there. The whole part of his father being King Maric... well, he had glossed right over that. He would have to tell her and soon. They were on their way to Redcliffe, at most his selective telling of the truth had only delayed the inevitable for another night. And she reacted exceptionally well to him telling her that he was a bastard, better than he could have hoped to be honest, so it might not be so bad. Then again, there is only one thing worse than a bastard and that's a royal bastard. He didn't want her to know as long as possible. Everyone who found out treated him differently, looked at him differently... and he liked the way she looked at him.

Well, at least he would for one more day.


	16. Chapter 16: Redcliffe

16.1 Kathryn and Teagan

Kathryn had finished speaking with Teagan in the chantry, informing him that they had convinced Owen to repair the weapons and armor and that Murdock had said that the militia was ready to fight; that the dwarf, Dwyn had agreed to help in the defense, and that they had discovered a spy in the village and while he didn't know anything either about the monsters or the arl's illness, he had also been 'persuaded' to help. There seemed nothing more to do but wait.

She turned to leave when he said to her. "It occurs to me now why you seem so familiar... and it would appear that we have meet before, although I doubt you remember me." She turned back to him with a curious and surprised expression. "We met when you were presented to the king upon your coming of age, that would be nearly six years ago now."

"Oh, I am so very sorry. I do remember that, of course, but I have to admit I don't remember you." She said slightly embarrassed. She should have remembered that and should remember meeting him.

"Of course not, I am a bann of little consequences. You met much more interesting people than me that day, including a few Antivan princes, at least a dozen Orlesian nobles, and nearly all the nobility of Ferelden. No noble this side of the Frostbacks would dare to miss the presentation of a Cousland, especially one as well spoken of as you. But I think your failure to remember me has much more to do with the fact that by the time I was introduced, you had indulged in more wine that you were accustomed to." He said with a smile.

"Oh dear Maker." She said with a groan and the remembrance of the headache she had the next day. "I didn't embarrassed myself or you, did I?" She asked mortified.

"No, no, no, you handled yourself beautifully, with grace and poise, throughout. In truth, the only way most anyone can stand to get through those things is with some wine, and all know it. So any discretion due to such would be easily forgiven." His smile and causal way of speaking about it, put her back at ease.

Once he saw that she was again relaxed, he continued. "Generally I leave that type of thing to Eamon, but I knew it would be worth putting in an appearance, Bryce always throws a good party." He looked sad and thoughtful for a moment, started to say something, stopped and then said. "And if I may be so bold, you were quite stunning. It does surprise me that you never married, since after that day you had nearly every nobleman in Thedas eating out of your hand."

She smiled. She truly wished she did and for that matter had remembered meeting him. "Surprised you and mother both. But I am picky in my choice of husband, slavish devotion is simply not enough. I demand personality, character and intelligence and much of the nobility is sorely lacking in at least one of those traits."

Teagan smiled a very charming smile and said. "I must say your assessment of the qualities of noblemen is fairly accurate, although in my gender's and class's defense I have to say that there are exceptions."

Yes, Kathryn thought, she was looking at one. "Then upon your word I shall not dismiss all of them. Although in the last few years I have met most of them. In fact, I am surprised that mother did not introduce us. She was desperate to make a match for me. Unless of course you are already married." She was so charmed, that she had probably missed the obvious conclusion.

He smiled and said. "No, I am not married but as I said, I am bann of no consequence, not a suitable match for a teyrn's daughter, I assure you."

Of course not, I find you interesting and charming so therefore you can't be a suitable match. Not that it mattered now, she was no longer a lady but a Grey Warden with a blight to defeat. "Well, you should not feel snubbed by my forgetfulness, I do not remember meeting Cailan either and he was the prince." She said.

"That is because you didn't. He was suspiciously absent from the festivities. The king was furious, but apparently he was sick. Many of us suspected that... Loghain had something to do with it." He said.

"Why would he do that?" She asked.

"Well, there had been talk that it may be better if Cailan married you instead of Anora. They had been promised as children, nearly from the day Cailan was born. But many objected to her since she was a commoner and there was the curious fact that they had not married yet, despite being promised for such a long time, Cailan being of age and Anora not getting any younger." He paused and then continued.

"The rumor was that Cailan didn't want to marry her and was stalling hoping that Maric would live long enough for the prospect of Anora having children to be so remote that he would be 'forced' to marry another. But when Maric disappeared and there was talk of giving the throne to... well, to your father. He married Anora to appease Loghain and his implied promise of guidance satisfied the nobility, who did not have much faith in Cailan as king. He was so very young in experience if not years. He seemed such a child."

Teagan paused again, lost in bittersweet memories. "It is hard to accept that such a man, full of hope and good will and life... could be dead, but... forgive me." He started to shake his head. "Maric should have prepared him better, but perhaps he didn't know how. The talk was that Bryce was a better choice and would ensure the stability and future of Ferelden. I do wonder with all that has happened, if they were not right."

Teagan stopped for a moment, looked at the floor and then gently said. "I must ask a question. I hate to bring this up, and hope that the answer will not be upsetting to you, but I heard that Bryce and Eleanor were killed. No one seemed to have any more information than that. I pray... Is that true?"

Kathryn took a deep breath. This was the first time she had to say it out loud. "Yes, they were both killed."

Teagan bowed and shook his head clearly fighting sorrow and anger. When he looked back up he asked, "What happened? If you know and will tell me?"

"Arl Howe's men attacked the castle after the army had left for Ostagar. They... slaughtered everyone. I escaped." Kathryn said with no emotion. It felt like someone else was talking.

Teagan could not keep the anger out of his face. "I am so very sorry. I knew Bryce, and considered him a friend. He was a... good... man and Eleanor a fine... fine lady. It is hard to believe... to believe that they are gone."

Several moments passed and then Teagan said thoughtful. "Although I do believe Howe capable of such behavior... I do wonder at the timing of it all, the attack on Highever, the onset of Eamon's illness and then the death of the king..."

Kathryn had been thinking much along the same lines. "Yes, I have no doubt that Loghain had something to do with the attack and the arl's illness."

Teagan nodded, glad to see that the obvious conclusion had not escaped her. "He seems bent on taking control of the country and the best way to do that is to make sure there is no one else who can. Take out the two men most likely to stand in his way, Eamon and Bryce. Eamon could stand up to Loghain and challenge him at the Landsmeet, while Bryce, given that Cailan had no heir would most likely have been chosen to be king. Loghain has much to answer for." Teagan said with emotion.

After a few moments, Kathryn asked, "May I ask you something?"

"Please do." Teagan said with a smile.

"Tell me about Eamon." She said.

Teagan smiled widely. "I will and gladly too. Eamon is a good man, well respected and well loved by both the nobility and common people for his kindness, temperament and wisdom. For me personally, he is much more than just my older brother. Our father died during the war. Eamon was not yet a man and I only eight. I barely remember father, our mother I remember not at all. Rowan was fighting with Maric with the rebellion and afterwards married Maric, so Eamon basically raised me. One could not ask for a better brother or friend."

"And you knew Alistair as a child." Kathryn asked.

"Oh, yes, I lived at the castle until I was appointed Bann of Rainifere, about eight years ago." Teagan said.

"If I may say, you seem fond of him." She said.

"Yes, it was hard not to be. I was quite fond of him when he was a child and look forward to getting to know the man he has become." Teagan said with warmth.

"What was he like?" Kathryn asked.

"He was a delightful child, a joy, truth be told, bright, generous and kind. He was always into something or other some adventure or mischief. He was good-hearted but he did have a willful streak and a temper that could be frightening in one so young. We all loved him, everyone in the castle, especially Eamon."

"Then why did he send him away?" Kathryn asked.

Teagan's expression became serious. "Isolde insisted. When she became pregnant with Connor, she threatened to return with the child to Orlais. Eamon was in a difficult position. If Alistair had been Eamon's child, perhaps he may have refused, but despite all, I do believe that he was trying to do the best for everyone."

Teagan paused seemingly considering exactly how to best phrase what he wanted to say. "I know my brother loves Isolode and she is a devoted wife and mother, and for that I respect and love her as my sister but... she made life miserable for Alistair. Eamon had to do something. He hoped the monastery would be good for him, give him an education and a better future, but Alistair was so furious and hurt by it. Eamon was simply heartbroken." Teagan finished. Kathryn could see that this subject was a sore and painful one for him.

"But didn't she know that Alistair wasn't the arl's child but Maric's?" Kathryn waited to see Teagan's reaction.

He looked at her eyes slightly widened, but only slightly. He paused for a moment and then said. "Oh yes. Even if she doubted his word the resemblance between him and Cailan, especially when they were younger was remarkable. It is in fact how Alistair figured out the true identity of his father, in the first place."

"He figured it out." Kathryn asked curious, for a child to figure that out was... impressive.

"Yes, he was never to know, of course, but the simple fact was that he looked so much like Cailan. After the one occasion they met, Alistair started asking if they were brothers. So Eamon decided to tell him the truth."

"Isolde knew, of course, and while she hated the rumors, it was more than that. It was so accepted that Alistair was Eamon's child and he was so well loved by everyone, servant, commoner and noble alike, that she feared that when the time came Alistair may be named as arl instead of Conner. Since she surmised and rightly so, I might add, that nearly any Ferelden would much rather have a bastard as an Arl than someone who was half Orleasian. She was just trying to protect the future of her child." Teagan said apologetically.

"Still you can't condone what she did." Kathryn said stern.

"No, I can't and don't. Eamon and I argue about it still. It is my great regret that I could not care for him myself. But I was not given the lands as bann for another two years and by then it was too late. Eamon still loves him. I know Alistair won't believe that but it truly broke Eamon's heart that Alistair took it so hard. He even spent months repairing..." Teagan looked up to see Alistair walk into the Chantry and up to Teagan. Kathryn quickly excused herself and left the two of them alone.

16.2 Alistair and Teagan

Both men watched as Kathryn walked out of the chantry. Alistair turned back to Teagan and said. "I... I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Oh, no, you didn't." Teagan lied. "She was just reporting your group's successes and the current conditions. At this point, we were merely trading pleasantries."

"Oh... good." Alistair said. Teagan took a good look at him. The resemblance was plain, if less than when he was younger. He was nervous, when he was a child he would fidget incessantly, but now he stood still as a solider, as a warrior does. No doubt the chantry had beat that out of him, probably quite literally. He thought sadly. He wondered how much of the boy he knew remained in the man before him, how much of his spirit remained unbroken, how much he even remembered of his time at the castle. "I... I wanted... how have you been? I mean before... now isn't good, I know... but..."

Apparently, quite a bit. Teagan thought. "Well, I was appointed Bann of Rainifere, nearly eight years ago. I have done well. The area is thriving. It is nice there, not so cold as Redcliffe." He said.

"Are you married? Have any children?" Alistair asked.

"No," Teagan responded. "I never found the time or the right person, I guess."

"You should... children, I mean. You'd... be good with them." Alistair said. Teagan smiled warmly, understanding perfectly what he meant by that and why he had said it, and it touched him deeply.

"You have no idea how glad I am to find out you are alive." Teagan said with warmth. "When I heard that all the Grey Wardens had died, I assumed you had too..."

"No, we... wait..."Alistair looked at Teagan curiously. "How did you know I was a Grey Warden? Did... Cailan send word?" He asked somewhat incredulous. He doubted that, but he didn't have a better explanation.

"No, Eamon knew within days of your recruitment and told me then." Teagan said.

"But... how did the Arl know?" Alistair asked confused.

"The brothers at the monastery sent him word." Teagan said.

"But... why?" Alistair asked.

Teagan hesitated, he should really hear this from Eamon but he was not in a position to inform him, and there may not be an other opportunity. "When the brothers at the monastery asked Eamon to stop coming to see you, he only agreed if they sent him regular reports on your well-being. He's been getting them for years now. The one about your recruitment was, of course, the last."

"What!?" Alistair said loud enough to draw looks from a few of the others in the chantry. He lowered his voice and said. "They asked him to stop! Why?"

"Because you refused to see him and after each of his visits, they told Eamon that you would become depressed and difficult. You were already having trouble... adjusting. They thought it would be best if he stopped coming to see you altogether. He only agreed if they wrote to him about you and reported if you needed anything." Teagan said. There was no way Alistair could have known that, and must have spent the years since then thinking that Eamon had just stopped, stopped visiting and no doubt stopped caring about him, when in fact nothing could be further from the truth.

"When he found out that you were going to be trained as a templar, he was very upset. You had been sent to the monastery to gain and education and a future, as a brother or scholar or priest. So that you would be safe and taken care of, not to be trained to fight malificarum and abominations. He even wrote to the Grand Cleric but she said that you had shown such great promise as a warrior that it must be the Maker's will that you be a templar and there was nothing he could do." Teagan said.

"No, there was nothing 'he' could do." Alistair said with a great deal of bitterness. Teagan knew that he was referring to the fact that Maric could have interceded, but wouldn't have. Teagan could see the resentment and the anger he carried and that, at least in Teagan's opinion, he had every right to. But he could also see how he fought with the knowledge that the Arl had not abandoned him completely and not of his own volition. It must be a lot to take in. Alistair seemed lost in a daze and mumbled something and turned and nearly ran out of the chantry.

16.3 Kathryn and Roland

Kathryn walked up to where Roland was sitting and sat down next to him. The sun was just starting its decent. They had done all they could and were waiting for nightfall.

"I wanted to tell how much good it did me to talk with you last night, of the castle, of everyone. At first all I could think of was that night but now, I can remember them well, think of the good times there too." Roland said, feeling that not only his body was healing but his heart and spirit too.

"Yes, it was good." She said and it had been, sort of, like first touching a burn. After that touching it doesn't hurt any less, it is just that you are used to the pain. She would grieve. She would... when Howe was dead.

Roland continued. "But you know there was a part of that past, of... our past at the castle, of us growing up, that we didn't talk about. A part that I still hold very dear."

Kathryn looked at him and smiled. "Yes, I know. As do I."

"His lordship was very understanding and I am very grateful to him for not sending me back to my father. I didn't understand why things had to be that way. I thought that if we cared for each other all else should not matter but it does and I can see that now. We were young and foolish to risk so much, but I do not... cannot regret it any of it." He said with emotion.

"Nor I." She said.

He turned to face her, catching and holding her eyes. "I wanted to tell you, that I still... care for you. I never stopped... caring for you. I made and oath and stood by it, but it didn't change how I felt... how I still feel." He said with emotion.

"I had hoped that one day we may find ourselves in this position, where those differences and distinctions didn't matter." He kept going not wanting to give her a chance to answer, not yet. "I know it was long ago, and much has happened since. We are not the same people we were then. But I have, for all these years, held the hope that you still carried some feeling for me. It is not so foolish to hope that it is not too late for us."

Kathryn started to say something but he stopped her. "I know now is not the time. I only ask that you think on these things, please." He said nearly out of breath.

"I will." She said and smiled. "Now, get some rest, we won't get much tonight."

16.4 Alistair and Drake

Alistair sat by the windmill, looking up at the castle. He starred at it a long time, not really thinking for in truth he didn't know what to think or feel for that matter. So he just looked at it. He heard a noise and turned as Drake walked up. "Hello." Alistair said. Drake sat and then laid down next to him and then looked at Alistair. Alistair pointed to the castle. "I grew up there, you know." Drake looked at him curiously and whined. "Hmmm... okay." Alistair said, thinking. "Let's try again... when I was small..." Alistair pointed to himself and then made a motion to indicate a child sized version of himself. "...I lived in that castle." He then pointed to the castle. Drake looked at the castle for a moment and then back to Alistair and barked a single happy bark. Alistair considered. "You know, I really think that you understood me." Another happy bark.

Alistair looked at Drake and then back at the castle. "I haven't seen it in ten years. You think I'd feel... something... looking at it now. But it's not home anymore... I guess it never... was. I... I just hope... he's alright. I don't want things to... end like this. I said things... I shouldn't have... things I wish I could take back... but I was so angry... He'll forgive me, won't he? I... I was just a child. That's a good excuse, right?" He looked to Drake who tilted his head and just looked at him. "I understand now. I do. He was married and he had a responsibility to her. I get that. I wasn't even his child... maybe if I had been... I wish... doesn't matter..." He looked to Drake who was still listening intently to him or at least it looked like he was.

He couldn't think about all that right now. Needed to think on something else. Well, that was easy enough, there was another topic that seemed to occupy this thoughts constantly. He looked at Drake.

"Your mistress is impressive, isn't she?" Drake let out a happy bark, very emphatic. "Of course you think so or else you wouldn't have imprinted to her, would you?" Another happy bark. And she was impressive, just today he had seen her intimidate a battle-hardened dwarf, give comfort and hope to a grieving father, talk a frightened child out of a closet, persuade a Revered Mother to lie, and then there was the fact that they were here at all, helping to defend the village. True, it wasn't directly involved in stopping the blight, but leaving all these people to be killed by monsters, that simply couldn't be the right thing to do and he was glad that she agreed.

He had seen her and Roland talking in confidence. He looked at Drake. "Roland, Ser Gilmore, he's a good man, right? I mean, aren't dogs supposed to know things like that?" Happy bark. "I thought so." He said and was glad of it. Really, he was... he was...

He reached up to pet Drake and then pulled his hand back. Drake looked at him curiously. "I heard that you don't pet marbaris. That they are war dogs and that they don't like it." Drake let out a hurt whine. "Well, that's just what I heard." He said.

"That's true, in general." Kathryn said as she walked up to where they were. "But Drake breaks all the normal mabari rules, don't you?" She said as she sat next to him and roughly scratched behind his ear and rubbed his neck. She looked to Alistair and continued. "He was a fifth puppy, only half the size of the others and his back legs were all shriveled up. They thought he was crippled."

Alistair looked surprised. It was hard to imagine the fearsome dog next to him as a helpless crippled puppy. "Normally, they wouldn't... live." He said.

"Or even be allowed to, but I persuaded father to let me have him. I was sure that he was fine and that I could get him healthy and walking. Took a lot of work, didn't it boy?" Drake issued his happy bark. "They let me keep him. I guess they figured that as much as I'd taken care of him, he wouldn't obey anyone else." She explained.

Alistair knew a little about marbaris and enough to know that wasn't true. Marbaris don't imprint based on love or gratitude or anything else of the kind. They only imprint to strength. There can be love without respect and respect without love. In this case it was clear there was both, but no, Drake saw something in Kathryn that made him revere her. He could relate.

"But he is picky about who pets him. Father could but he wouldn't let Fergus nor Roland touch him. Just go slow and he'll let you know if it's alright." She said.

"How will I know?" Alistair asked a little wary.

"Trust me you'll know and you might even have a finger or two left." She smiled. "Here palm up, keep it below his eye level at first. Go slow and he likes being scratched behind the ears."

Alistair turned his hand over and slowly reached it towards Drake who for his part looked at his hand but didn't react. He touched his neck and slowly stroked it with the back of his fingers. He turned his hand over and reached up to behind his ear. Drake turned his head towards him. After a few minutes of gentle to vigorous scratching, Alistair pulled his hand away. Drake gave a happy bark and then laid his head down.

16.5 Alistair and Kathryn

He looked back to her, she was smiling at Drake and then her serious face. He wasn't going to like this. "Why did you keep your birthright a secret?" She asked.

He had really hoped that the discussion on the bridge would settle things, but he guessed not. "You never asked." He said a bit sheepishly. He should have told her, he knew that, especially with as well as she had taken the whole bastard thing.

She looked at him, not amused in the slightest. "That's a cheap answer but if you don't want to tell me, fine." She said and then stood up. "I mean I thought we were friends, didn't you trust me?"

No, no, no, please not this. "We are friends... it wasn't supposed to... I didn't mean... oh, let me explain." This better be one of your best, because she isn't happy. In fact she looks angry and... hurt. She took a deep breath and sat back down.

Well, at least she was sitting down again. "The thing is, I'm used to not telling anyone who didn't already know. It was always a secret. Even Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew. And then after the battle, when I should have told you... I don't know. It seemed like it was too late by then. How do you just tell someone that?" He said pleading.

"It's come up, Alistair. I asked you about the fact that the arl had raised you and if you knew who your father was? You've been avoiding it." She said still annoyed.

"Yes, well... I suppose part of me kind of liked you not knowing." He said embarrassed.

"You... enjoyed not telling me?" She asked in disbelief. This wasn't helping the situation.

"It's just that anyone who's ever found out has treated me differently afterwords. I was the bastard prince instead of just being Alistair. I know what must sound stupid to you, but I hate that it's shaped my entire life. I never wanted it, and I certainly don't want to be king." He said. He looked at her she didn't seem as angry or hurt and a little more thoughtful, that was at least a start.

"I guess I can understand that." She said reluctantly.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I... I guess I was just hoping that you would like me for who I am. It was a dumb thing to do." He hadn't meant to hurt her. In fact, he was actually surprised that she cared enough to be hurt by it.

"Alistair, I do... don't worry about it. No harm done." She said and for the most part it looked like she meant it.

"I guess it's kind of a relief that you know now." He said, at least it wasn't hanging over his head but he also knew that it and the fact that he hadn't told her had changed their friendship. But on the plus said, she at least still considered him a friend.

"Are you sure you're not hiding anything else?" She asked.

"Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no that's it. Just the prince thing." He said with a smile. She smiled back, maybe things would be alright between them again. He hoped so.

"Just... no more secrets, not between us." She said.

"I can handle that." He said.

"Wait," she said looking thoughtful. "So, that means that you're not only a bastard but a royal bastard, doesn't it?." She said coyly.

He laughed. "Ha. I guess it does at that. I should use that line more often." She smiled at him. She did look at him differently, but that wasn't a bad thing he realized. It was the first conflict they'd had, and they had gotten through it. In fact, he liked this new look she had for him. There was more familiarity and understanding and... warmth than before. He smiled back.

Behind them, the sun had begun to set.


	17. Chapter 17: Third Camp

17.1 Kathryn

Kathryn finished the rest of her ale, and moved closer to the fire. The last days had been intense. The attack on the village had been a terrible, chaotic battle but, thank the Maker, everyone had made it through, a bit worse for wear perhaps but alive. Teagan had been so grateful he had given her a helmet that had belonged to his family. She hated to take such treasures but she knew that it was impolite to refuse such a gift. When all this was done, somehow she would make sure it was returned to him.

Teagan had told them about a secret passage into the castle. She had been surprised he had not mentioned this earlier or hadn't tried to enter the castle in the first place. But he hadn't wanted to abandoned the villagers and he knew she would want to enter the castle but they had needed her help. She had to admire his willingness to take on the responsibility of protecting the village, given that he had no duty to them, but it didn't surprise her.

Before much more was said Isolde had appeared. Kathryn was already predisposed to dislike her just from all she had heard about her and nothing Isolde did or said improved her opinion of her. She insisted that Teagan go back with her to the castle alone, she seemed completely disinterested in what had happened at the village, managed to insult her and make a snide comment to Alistair and all the while giving Kathryn the impression that she wasn't being completely honest with them. Teagan agreed to accompany Isolde back to the castle, while admitting it was dangerous, he hoped that it may give them a better chance to enter the castle unnoticed. She had to give him points for bravery in addition to everything else. Both she and Alistair hated to let him go, but they didn't have much choice.

After they had entered the castle, they met the mage Jowan in the dungeon. He admitted quite readily to poisoning the arl and that he had done so on the orders of Loghain. He had promised to save him from execution for being a blood mage, which didn't surprise Kathryn at all. Well, the part about Loghain being behind the arl's illness didn't surprise her but she wouldn't have marked Jowan for a malificarum, not that she had much, if any, experience of them. He claimed not to be responsible for the monsters, and somehow Kathryn believed him. He told them what Isolde had not, that Connor was a mage and that it was possible that he had done something unintentionally to cause a tear in the Fade that would allow the monsters and demons to enter the castle. He seemed forthcoming and repentant and... nice.

After they had finally fought their way through the castle they discovered that Connor had been possessed by a demon. Isolde had hidden that fact, wanting to protect him. Kathryn decided for certain that she really didn't like Isolde nor did she respect or would she ever trust her. Perhaps all she had done was out of a mother's love, overdeveloped and overprotective and single minded, but it was now defying all reason. How could they possibly save him if they had no idea of what to save him from? And to let them walk into the castle without telling them what they may be facing was dangerous to everyone.

Fortunately, they were able to defeat the demon, driving it into hiding and freeing Teagan from its hold, but there seemed to be little choice but to slay the poor child. She had thought of Oren, and how Connor had only tried to help his father and how he should never had been in this position to begin with. Jowan claimed that he knew a spell using blood magic that could open a portal and allow a mage to enter the Fade and confront and slay the demon there and free Connor. But that spell required a lot of blood, in fact all of it. Isolde volunteered to be the sacrifice. The prospect of Isolde dying instead of the boy did not bother Kathryn. She would even be fine with the use of blood magic given the extreme circumstances but she was not willing to risk one of her party, in this case Morrigan, facing a demon alone in its realm with only Jowan's magic holding the portal open. Of course the other option, confronting and trying to defeat the demon here, didn't thrill her either.

Alistair suggested seeking the help of the mages. But that meant leaving Redcliffe with the demon still in possession of Connor and traveling to the tower. She considered. The demon had been weakened, the mage's tower was only a day's journey, Jowan was there and seemed willing to help keep a handle on the situation. Her decision made, they set out for the circle tower.

They had camped for the night. They needed rest before the trip across the lake. Dinner was quiet, if substantial. They had raided the castle for food and other supplies, but they were all tired and engrossed with their own thoughts.

Kathryn's mind was occupied not with the events of the last days but of events so many years ago. Then she had passed only her fifteenth winter and Roland his seventeenth. She still was considered a child and he was a squire. But all her frocks had gotten too small in the chest and hips and she had traded them for dresses designed for a woman. Roland for his part was as tall and broad chested as any of the castle's soldiers.

While they had always been tutored together, more and more their studies differed. The time they did share became precious. They went on fewer adventures and talked more, speaking of philosophy and history and poetry and such. One day they had went far from the castle grounds on a walk and had gotten caught in one of the infrequent but sudden storms the coast is known for. They had taken shelter under a canopy of branches. In the rain, cut off from the castle, from all they had known and been and from all the things that they didn't yet understand he had moved a stay lock of hair from her face and kissed her.

After that, they stole moments when they could. They were too young to consider or care about a future and or the risks if they were caught, of the damage to her reputation or his career. They wrote each other notes, held hands, and kissed in every part of the castle. They had been so careful, but not careful enough, it seemed. For somehow father had discovered them, even catching them in the act. He had ordered her to her room. She said not to punish Roland. She would take all the blame. He told her to go to her room. As she lay on her bed, thinking for the first time about what may happen now that they were discovered. She had cried and pleaded with mother, who had tried to explain why it would not work, why this couldn't be, things she didn't care to hear or understand.

After what seemed an age, father came to talk to her. She pleaded with him but he was not angry only firm. He wasn't going to send Roland away but required her word that it end, now. There would be no punishment, and it would never be mentioned again. But if he discovered either had broken their word to him, he would send him back home. Kathryn knew how much he wanted to be a knight, and couldn't imagine the shame that being sent back would cause both to him and his father. She gave her word.

They had never spoken about what had happened until today. At their next meeting, it was all pleasant formality. It broke her heart and she could tell his too, but there was nothing they could do. Neither her parents or Fergus held it against him and after the first awkward meetings, things returned to normal. With time it got easier, seeing him about the castle. Soon she was presented at court and was 'my lady' and then he was knighted and became 'Ser Gilmore' and the social distinctions became an insurmountable wall between them.

But after some time had passed, and the feelings became simply a bittersweet memory, she had begun to wonder if it had all been real. Had it truly been love or just a friendship that had been mistaken for more, the unavoidable developing of adult emotions from childlike ones, the loss of innocence as they matured? Had it really just been the passing and romantic notions of the young or had they been real and true feelings, now buried and muted because they knew that they could not act on those feelings? And how does one tell the difference?

True feelings don't just disappear, and she had to admit that she did still feel... something for him, even after these years. They are not the same people that they were then, but are they that different? Was it not worth exploring? Did she not owe it to herself and to the young woman who had shed tears and wished for just this opportunity? Did she not owe this to him, for all he had done and meant to her? If for no other reason than he had remained behind holding the gate, refusing to even try to escape to allow her to flee the castle. He stayed knowing that he would likely die or worse at the hands of Howe's men. Yes, he owed a duty to the family but looking into his eyes, she knew that he was doing this for her.

"When I realized what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gate, but it won't keep Howe's men out for long. If you've another way out of the castle, use it quickly." He had said grim but firm.

"Come with us." She pleaded.

"If I do that, you won't make it out before the gates fall." He said with the surety of relating a simple fact.

"Then I'll stay and help you hold the gate." She said determined not to leave him, not like this.

"They won't hold. It will only delay the inevitable." These were facts he had thought through, understood the ramifications and realities of them. He was grim and set and she knew she couldn't convince him otherwise.

"Please go while you have the chance." His voice becoming unsteady, panicked at the time they were losing. He told them about where he thought they could find father.

"Bless you Ser Gilmore. Maker watch over you." Mother had said.

"Maker watch over us all." He replied and started to turn to the gate.

"Roland." She said.

He stopped not wanting to look at her. "Please… go… please." He begged her.

There was so much to say, gratitude, regret and... many emotions she didn't have words for. She stepped forward taking his head in her hands and kissed him. She felt his arms around her and then he pulled back, looking her in the eyes. His face full of anguish and determination, "Please... go... now." He turned and ran to the gate.

She remembered the sharp pain in her heart, the sorrow and devastation of having to leave him there. Is that not the other side of caring... of love? Is that not proof enough of something there? Did she not deserve to find out what else might still be there? What might be there now?

But... whatever it was, it was not the passion, adoration and devotion of the great loves of the bards or even of her parents. The kind of love that she had wanted, had always hoped for... But was she willing to wait her entire life for something that may not happen, for something that may not even be possible for her? Perhaps only some people, romantic, emotional, sentimental people can truly love like that, and she was not one of them.

And perhaps more importantly, she had seen what those kind of emotions had done, had cost not only her but others, to love another that you do not wish to live without them… did she even desire such a thing now? Such strong emotions exacted a high price. One she was not sure she was willing to pay even for the benefit they gave. She knew how it felt to have those she loved ripped away from her. To voluntarily give your heart like that, so completely, to another, to allow yourself to be subjected to the devastation of their loss, hardly seemed a good thing. Such romantic notions sound good to the young and idealistic who do not know better, and in songs of bards.

The feelings she had for Roland were ones based on years of friendship, a history, familiarity, and real affection. He was a good man, strong, kind, true, loyal and brave. He cared for and respected her. He knew her and valued her for her spirit, personality and character. What he offered, was love and devotion, friendship and understanding, compassion and companionship, a relationship both safe and comfortable. Love, but of the quiet kind, gentle and peaceful. Was that not enough? Could she not be content with that? Was that not more than most people had? What else could she ask for?

17.2 Alistair and Leliana

Leliana walked up to where Alistair was sitting, lost in his own thoughts. She waited until he noticed her, a time of several moments. When he finally did, he seemed startled that she was there.

"May I?" she said indicating the place next to him.

"Sure." He said.

Leliana sat down next to him and watched the fire for a minute. Then she said. "Kathryn may have told you that before I was a lay sister in Lothering, I was a traveling minstrel in Orlais."

"She did mention that and that your mother was from Denerim." He said.

"Yes, she served an Orleasian lady and after the war, when the lady returned to Orlais, she took my mother with her. She was a kind lady, no doubt much like the arl." She said. Alistair looked at her curiously. "My mother was with child and unmarried and she could have dismissed her but she didn't. Then after my mother died she even let me stay with her when she could have turned me out on the street. Our stories are not that dissimilar, no?" Leliana said.

"No, they're not." Alistair said thoughtful. He turned and smiled at Leliana. She smiled back. She had a nice smile and it didn't feel like he was getting punched in the chest when she smiled at him. It felt... nice. He considered a moment and then asked. "So, do you know... I mean..."

"Who my father is? No, I was very young when my mother died. I once asked Cecilie but she said that she didn't know. My mother had never told her and she didn't feel it her place to ask." She said matter of fact.

Then after a moment, she said more wistfully. "When I was younger, I used to imagine all kinds of stories about my father. Who he was? What happened to him? Why he would abandon my mother? That he was a noble married to a wicked foreign princess who cast a spell to make him forget my mother or a soldier who was injured and lost his memory or even a... spy who had to stay away from us to protect us from his enemies or that he was going to return for my mother after making his fortune but was killed before he got there, dying in the street, her name on his lips. You know, all terribly, romantic, tragic melodrama." She said with a smile.

"I wish I didn't know who my father was." Alistair said. "It's brought me nothing but trouble to be honest."

"I think it is different here than in Orlais and different for boys, no?" She asked.

"I don't know." He said. "It wasn't much of an issue at the castle, of course. There everyone assumed I was the arl's child. The monastery though... well, the boys from noble families called me bastard and basically ignored me..."

"...or beat you up when the brother's were not looking, yes?" She asked.

"Well that too." He said with a shrug. "...and the poor ones, they thought I put on airs and wouldn't have anything to do with me."

"You? Put on airs?" She laughed.

"Yes, or so they said. The one thing they could all agree on is that I didn't belong to either group." He said. Leliana knew he was making a joke but she could tell there was some real pain there.

"Must have been lonely." She said gently.

"I guess." Alistair said. "It's not like I had much to compare it to." There was a quiet and comfortable silence, as they listened to the fire and the sounds of the night.

She liked him, his self-deprecating sense of humor and easy manner. Despite having a difficult childhood, he wasn't reserved or standoffish at all. It was easy to see that he had a tender but strong heart. She liked him. She liked him a lot.

"So, being a minstrel, what do you do? I mean... do you play the flute or harp?" He asked.

"I play the lute and some harp. I sing, so no flute. Tell stories and dance. I always had a love of the old tales. My mother used to tell me the old myths and legends. Many are so beautiful and sad. Do you know the old tales?" She said.

"I studied history at the monastery. The chant was drilled into us, of course. Then when I became a Grey Warden I learned all I could about their history." He said.

"Even the tales of Calenhad the Great?" She asked.

"No, not those. I mean, I do know them, but I already knew them." Leliana looked at him curiously. "I... I had a book... borrowed it from the monastery's library, _Tales of Calenhad. _I'd read it when I couldn't sleep, which was a lot." He admitted.

"I see." She said. "How fascinating. The bastard prince who hates his birthright so much that he keeps a copy of the tales of his ancestor under his pillow." She said with a coy smile.

"Don't say it like that. You make it sound like I was secretly... proud of it or... something... Really, it's just a good story... and it was the only name I recognized on the book covers... I was only ten... and... not being convincing, am I?" He asked.

"No." She replied.

"Well, I guess I was looking for a connection to someone." He admitted.

After a slight pause, where she determined that was enough teasing about his birthright for one evening, she asked. "So, do you play or sing or anything?"

"Me, no not at all. Not something they taught at the monastery. It might accidentally be construed as fun. But I can... no." He said.

"What?" She asked intrigued.

"No, nothing." He said short.

"No, tell me. What secret talent do you possess?" She said given a clear indication that she didn't intend to let him out of telling her.

"I can... draw, a bit." He reluctantly admitted.

"Indeed! You mean with pencil and paper." She asked.

"Well, charcoal and linen. One of the servants at the arl's would make these sticks of charcoal that the other servants would use to write with. When I was young they gave me some to play with and a linen cloth over a piece of wood to draw on. When I was done they could wash it and I'd start over. But I got pretty good. Haven't done it in a long time though."

"You should. I'd like to see a display of your art." She said. He smiled shyly. She looked at the position of the moon, and reluctantly said. "Well, I have second watch and better get some sleep. Good night, Alistair."

"Good night, Leliana." He watched her as she stepped into her tent. Hmmm... did that just happen? Did he really just sit there and have a normal conversation and all with a woman, a 'hot' woman come to think of it, and didn't stick his foot in his mouth? And it was... nice... really... nice.

17.3 Kathryn and Roland

Roland was sitting by the fire nursing a mug of ale and watching the flames. Kathryn walked up to him. He looked up at her and quickly stood.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" She asked.

"No, not at all. I was just thinking about what happened. I am glad that at least we are attempting to save that poor child's life. He was just trying to help his father, and in a position he never should have been put into. He should be at the tower, so that he and others would be safe. I understand a mother's love and wanting to protect your child and that the tower is not the best of places, but there are reasons why it is there, to prevent this type of thing. I blame the mother. But while I am and I know you are also uncomfortable leaving the situation as it is, I am glad you decided not to use blood magic, especially since there is another alternative." He said.

"The spell was too risky. I wasn't going to put Morrigan in that position. I do hope the situation will hold until we are able to return, and that the mages are willing to help us." She said.

"And may I say that I am very pleased with your leadership. Not that I had any doubts but I am impressed with your courage, heart, decisiveness and cunning." He said with warmth.

"Thank you." She replied a little stunned but pleasantly so.

"I do wish to talk to you about something." He said.

"Of course." She said curious.

"I wanted to speak to you about Alistair. Well, not him but his parentage." He said tentative.

"That's not a problem for you, is it?" She asked cautiously.

"Of course not. I don't hold that against him. He has no choice in the circumstances of his conception and birth or the actions of his parents. In fact, I feel badly for him, to have not known either parent and be cast aside unwanted and then to be subjected to the scorn and condescension of others and ostracized for it. I wouldn't wish that upon my enemy. He is a good man, and deserved better and nothing about his past or heritage changes my opinion of him." He said sure. He then took a breath and continued.

"But the fact that he hid that information from you, I know you are not pleased with that. No doubt you feel betrayed, but I ask that you do not. That cannot be an easy matter to reveal to anyone not knowing how they will react. To subject yourself to the mortification of such a confession would be difficult, at best. And by his own admission, he has had people react badly to that information and treat him differently because of it."

"You are a noble, in fact, the highest of all the nobles in Ferelden, second only to royalty itself. You were raised by good people to have regard for all no matter their standing, and you treat all with dignity and respect. You must forgive me, but you have not experienced nor do you understand the arrogance and vanity of the nobility and the repugnance and disdain many have for lower classes, and what many no matter the social class have for those outside the bounds of society, such as bastards."

"My father is a minor lord, but I have had my share of derision and pretentiousness from those who consider themselves better than I. I cannot imagine what he has endured. He does not know you as I do, and could not know that such things wouldn't matter to you. So I ask on his behalf, that you take all this into consideration." He said.

"You are a good man, Roland. He is lucky that you would stand up for him like this and I shall do as you ask." She said well pleased.

"Thank you." He said simply.

"Now, if that is all, there is something I wish to discuss with you." She said.

"Please." He said.

"I have thought about what... about us." She said her voice dropping.

"I see..." He said and swallowed hard. "...and may I ask what conclusion you have reached." He said as he took a small step closer to her.

"Much has happened in these last weeks, much has changed. Not only our circumstances but we have changed. We are not the people we were years ago, but we are not even the people we were weeks ago. It is hard to remember those times and those emotions, to look back on them with a discerning eye to see what they truly were or what they could have been but it is also not necessary for what has been is done. We only need to know if there is something here now and to look at what could be."

She paused, looked down and then back up to him. "I care for you. I have always cared for you and nothing has changed that. I believe that we owe it to ourselves to find out what can be for us now." She said.

He smiled a smile of happiness and relief. "My dear Kathryn..." He said as he stepped forward, took her in his arms and gently kissed her.

17.4 Alistair

Alistair had observed Kathryn walk to where Roland was sitting. He stood up when she approached. Whatever they were talking about seemed important. Roland was speaking and then when he stopped, Kathryn nodded approvingly. Then she began to speak. He saw Roland tense, as though preparing for some information he might not like and then step towards her. Then when she stopped speaking, relief and happiness in Roland's face and he leaned forward and... kissed her.

Stunned, Alistair stared for just a moment, and then quickly turned away. He didn't want to watch, didn't want them to catch him watching. It was rude and impolite to watch such a... moment.

He knew this was coming. He had heard the way that Roland had spoken of her. About how they had fancied themselves in love, been separated and how now given the change in circumstances, there was a chance for them. He had even hoped that it would work out for them, they both deserved this... really. It shouldn't affect him like this, but it did. Seeing that felt like a strong kick to his chest.

He thought about when he had first seen her at Ostagar. How just seeing her had affected him. The conversation and the possible... flirting. Most likely, he had been wrong and it wasn't flirting at all. He had so little experience in such things. He had probably imagined the whole thing, not the conversation of course but the intent, read too much into her being nice and personable.

Of course, maybe it had been flirting, maybe she had been just the tiniest bit interested, but with her lost love returned... a knight, she had loved for years, who had sacrificed his life to save her... Well, he couldn't even hope to compete with that. But he had hoped, hadn't he? Against all reason and knowledge, but isn't that the very nature of what hope is? Cruel in its determination to hold onto the idea that the impossible is somehow possible.

It was just that she was the first woman he had ever felt those kinds of feelings for, the first who had aroused those types of feeling in him, either emotionally or romantically or even... physically. Granted he had been raised in a monastery but he had been out six months, and for most of that been in Denerim. He'd seen lots of women, been around and talked to them and this was the first time anything close to that had happened.

He had thought that something like this just wasn't possible for him and he had been fine with it. And so he hadn't lost anything... not really, except that wasn't how it felt. He liked her and they were friends. It was enough, more than he had ever expected, to be honest. And it was enough... it would have to be.

He was happy for them. He would be happy for them... soon, but somehow seeing them together made him felt alone. He should be used to that by now and was... mostly, but somehow... it... this... was so much worse.

He turned away and went to bed without looking back at them.


End file.
